


A Time for Healing

by Arnel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:35:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 123,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24542449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arnel/pseuds/Arnel
Summary: In the early summer of 2005 Ginny Weasley watches a lone figure walk past her window. She sets a bouquet of flowers on her window sill. Will the young man she’s set them out for understand what she’s saying with flowers?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 53
Kudos: 52





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is inspired by a real life event that took place last summer. Each morning and evening, a lone young man walked past my house, each time going the same direction. His presence started my imagination going as to what his story was and out of those musings, came a plot bunny that just wouldn’t leave me alone until I’d written it down. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have writing it.
> 
> Before you continue on, I want to thank my editors, Melindaleo, Cackling Stump, Mutt n Feathers and Brennus for their patience, encouragement and comments that have made this story so much better than the rough draft.

**June 2005**  
She’d been watching him for days, a month actually. Each morning and every evening just after supper, the solitary figure passed her window. It seemed to her nurse’s eye that he was walking not for exercise, but with the determination of a man who needed to get his strength back and was pushing himself to the limit to do so. She’d seen that look on so many of her patients’ faces and for some reason, it touched her heart and made her wonder what had happened to him. She wondered, too, if he was ex-military. There was something in his posture that spoke of hours of training or standing guard. Had he been injured in Afghanistan or Iraq? He was the right age, maybe twenty-five or twenty-six. 

Most often when she watched him, she stood far enough back from the window that she thought he might not notice her following his progress past her flat. The thought that he was oblivious to the fact that she knew when to look for him made her smile; men like him were easily embarrassed when they discovered she could see him leaning on the walking cane he carried. She didn’t want him to be embarrassed because of his condition, whatever it was he was recovering from.

Tonight, though, just as he passed, she put a bouquet of freesia, peonies and daisies on the window sill and stood directly in back of it, willing him to look up at her. He did and she smiled at him, wondering if he knew how much she hoped he’d get better soon.

*****

He was tired. The London heat had sapped his energy and made his evening walk almost torture. He would have turned back, but this far into his route it was best if he just kept going. He liked this part of the city with its old Victorian houses, most of which had been converted into multiple flats. There was one he particularly liked; it was built of brick and had a yellow door and a window box full of flowers on the ground floor, the only one on the street. He knew a woman lived in that flat; he’d seen her enter several times and loved the glimpse of vivid red hair she kept in a severe bun at the nape of her neck. The hairstyle reminded him of his favourite teacher at Hogwarts, only this woman was eons younger. He also knew she sometimes watched him walk past. Yesterday morning, he’d seen her sitting in the window, casually sipping her morning tea, a newspaper held just so, so she could look over the top of it at him. The smile she’d given him had kept him going the rest of the day.

He stopped walking to catch his breath while looking at the flat with the window box. As he watched, the woman who lived there appeared and set a bouquet of flowers on the sill. He expected her to step away, but she didn’t. Instead, she stood looking out at the street.

Leaning on his walking cane, he took the time think about what she might be saying to him with her unusual choice of blooms. Was she wishing him well? Did she know he needed healing? Did she want to initiate a friendship? Shaking his head, he scoffed at himself; he was reading entirely too much into that innocent bouquet of flowers. Still, the book about flower meanings that he’d read while in hospital had been entertaining enough to take his mind off his pain, but he hadn’t taken it seriously. So why would he suddenly want to know if the woman really was trying to send him a message?

He looked up higher in the window and was pleased to see the woman had stayed standing in full view from the street. She smiled at him and he returned it, reaching up with his free hand to wave at her. However, the action was too much for his tired body and pain tore through his midsection with a vengeance. He doubled over, clinging to his cane to stay upright, willing the pain to lessen just enough for him to get home. Why did the after effects of Voldemort’s spell have to make themselves known at this exact time?

 *****

Ginny felt pleased when her young man noticed the flowers, and even more so when he returned her smile. Her smile turned into an expression of deep concern as she watched him suddenly double over in obvious pain as he tried to wave at her. In an instant, she was out her door and at his side, giving him something to lean on until his pain passed.

Eventually, he relaxed enough to straighten a little, and turned to look at her.

“Thank you,” he rasped. “I’m sorry if I alarmed you.”

“You need to sit down, I think,” Ginny told him in her best matron’s tone. “Give yourself a little time to recover. Come inside. Do you need my help?”

The man barely nodded and began to shuffle slowly towards her open door. Ginny kept a firmly supportive grip on her “patient.” He was gasping for breath by the time they made it to her sofa and she lowered him gently to the cushions. Only then did he really look at her. His eyes were a brilliant, pain-filled green.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

Ginny knelt beside him. “Will you be all right? Do you need to take any meds for your pain?” she asked, concerned.

He nodded and brought out a small vial of bright blue liquid. “I don’t do well with pills, so the liquid form is what I take,” he explained, and before she could ask what he was taking, he swallowed the contents and lay his head on the back of the sofa, closing his eyes. “May I have some water, please?” he asked weakly.

Ginny smiled even though he couldn’t see it and went to get the water. He looked much better when she returned. She handed him the glass. “I’ve never seen meds work so fast,” she commented. “Not even the liquid versions. Can I ask what you’re taking?”

“It’s experimental,” he told her. “I’m part of a case study. By the way, I’m Harry.”

At the abrupt change of subject, Ginny realized she wasn’t going to get any more information on the mysterious medicine, so she murmured, “I see,” and introduced herself.

“Pleased to meet you, although I would have liked it to have been under different circumstances. Did you just get home from work?” he asked.

Ginny glanced down at the smart trouser suit she had worn to work that morning. “I did,” she replied. “I work at the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital. If you don’t mind, I’d like to change. Then I’ll make us some dinner, if you’d like to stay.”

“I’ll be here when you come back,” Harry said and closed his eyes again.

She made quick work of changing and returned to her living room to find Harry snoring softly. _He must have worn himself out walking so much in this heat,_ she thought. With great care, she picked up his feet and pushed her pouf under his legs. He sighed in his sleep and she knew she’d done the right thing for him. Then, she turned to her kitchen and began to prepare their dinner.

*****

The smell of chicken soup, warm bread and chocolate eventually woke Harry up and for the first time in a long time, he realized he was hungry. But how could this be? He lived alone; Kreacher, his house-elf, had died several years ago and his friend, Hermione, couldn’t make chicken soup or fresh bread if her life depended on it, so she always brought take away when she came to visit. Most evenings, it was all he could do to slap together a sandwich when he came back from his walk. 

As he awoke further, he became aware of other clues to his whereabouts. He knew he wasn’t on his sofa at home and he wasn’t in hospital, either; he was just too comfortable and instead of antiseptic, the room had a floral scent. Finally, Harry opened his eyes to find he was in the lounge of a charming little flat that had a bouquet of flowers in the window. Harry smiled. He knew where he was now, and who owned the flat; her name was Ginny.

Almost as if he’d called her name, Ginny chose that moment to check on him.

“Oh, good! You’re awake. The soup’s ready and if your meds are like the ones we use at the hospital, you’ll need something in your stomach pretty soon. Are you hungry?” she asked.

Harry smiled at her. “Surprisingly, I am,” he replied. “Will you help me up?”

Ginny came forward and helped him stand, handing him his cane when he was fully upright. “Go sit at the table by the window,” she directed, pointing at a table he hadn’t noticed before now. “I’ll bring dinner. Would you like water or tea?”

“Tea, please,” Harry replied, marvelling at the fact that tea really did sound good.

The meal passed pleasantly, Harry eating every bit of the homemade soup in his bowl. It warmed his insides and relaxed the knotted muscles of his abdomen, the ones so severely damaged by Voldemort’s charm. He had a feeling that tonight’s meal wouldn’t end up in the bowl of the loo. That was progress for certain.

During the meal, they talked about inconsequential things, like the weather and latest news, but Harry found himself enjoying himself more than he had in a long while. He also learned a little about her history and her job at the hospital. He felt a little guilty when he had to avoid her questions on his background, but she didn’t seem to mind.

Ginny stood, gathering up the dishes, and asked, “How about some dessert?”

“Was that chocolate I smelled earlier?” he asked, wondering if she had made pudding.

She blushed and said, “Yes, but I’m not sure I should share it, only because I’d have to cut into my co-worker’s birthday cake. She turns thirty tomorrow and I promised the floor staff that I’d bring the cake. I do have some vanilla custard, though.”

Vanilla custard sounded wonderful and Harry told her so. His serving was ice cold, pleasantly sweet and again, felt like it was also going to stay down.

As he put down his spoon, Harry looked up at Ginny. “I don’t know what you’ve done to this meal, but I feel better than I have in a while,” he said gratefully. “Thank you.” He glanced at his watch and then out the window at the rapidly falling dusk. A regretful sigh escaped him as he said, “I need to complete my walk home. If I wasn’t so slow, I’d stay and chat, if you’d have me.”

“Would you like a ride home?” Ginny asked reaching for her car keys.

“No, thanks,” Harry said. “I don’t live far from here, so I’ll be home before it gets too dark. I appreciate the offer, though.”

She looked disappointed at his refusal.

“Will you be at your window tomorrow morning?” Harry asked as he slowly clambered to his feet.  
“Would you like me to be there?” she countered, sounding hopeful.

“I would,” he said. They walked together to her door, and, as he left, he asked, “Until tomorrow morning, then?”

“Until tomorrow, she agreed. As he walked down the street and rounded the corner into the next one, he could feel her eyes on him. It was a very pleasant feeling indeed.

*****

For her part, Ginny felt amazing. She’d made a new friend, she hoped, and simply by sharing a meal with Harry had made herself feel not so lonely. The last sixteen months had not been very enjoyable emotionally for her. Her brother’s death had caused a rift in her family, mostly because her other brothers blamed her when he died. But how could she be blamed when he’d become ill with brain cancer? It wasn’t her fault that the Fates chose Fred as their unwilling victim. However, it was her brother, Ron’s, comment about how horribly she’d treated Fred in his last days that caused her to leave Devon and the hospital she’d been working at and come to London, as far away from her family as she dared. It hadn’t taken very long for her to find employment. There was a nursing shortage at several of the big hospitals and she’d had several job offers from which to choose. Ultimately, she chose the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital. She loved her new job assisting the orthopaedic patients in her care and nine evenings out of ten, she came home feeling like she had contributed to their recovery. Still, she spent many a night wondering whether she could have done more for Fred; the guilt was her constant companion.

“Well, Ginny-girl,” she said to herself as she closed her front door, “let’s hope there’s more evenings like this one with Harry in the near future. I could use a little more happiness.”


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Ginny get to know each other better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone and welcome to chapter two! I appreciate the reviews I received for the first chapter and hope getting to see more of Harry and Ginny's relationship will inspire you to tell me what you think.
> 
> Many thanks go to Melindaleo, Cackling Stump, and Mutt n Feathers for their edits and suggestions.

Harry leaned against his bathroom sink dressed only in a towel and watching the magical razor “de-fuzz”—Hermione’s term—his face in the mirror. When the spell ended, he deftly caught the razor as it dropped towards the sink and the mirror declared him presentable for the day.

“Thanks,” he muttered, mentally preparing himself for the next part of his daily routine, the part that made him wonder if any woman would ever want to look at him again after seeing his body: the cursed scars from his battle with Voldemort were a revolting sight. Over time, Harry had become inured to the small lacerations that marked his chest and upper arms, the ones Voldemort had used to try to wear him down. He remembered only the pain of the first few of these, they were just the warm-up for what was to come and had not worn down his determination as his opponent had hoped. The duel had been vicious with each man scoring multiple hits on the other. It was towards the end, when the two had been throwing brutal, high-powered curses at each other that Voldemort had nearly ended the fight. Hermione had just succeeded in killing the snake, Nagini, the last Horcrux, when Voldemort landed the curse that had raked open Harry’s abdomen. With his strength quickly draining along with his blood, Harry had cast his last spell, ending the duel and his opponent’s life. Voldemort fell, mortally wounded, and Harry had known no more until he’d awoken from his coma nearly a year later.

Harry now looked down at his body, and gently touched the topmost of the three diagonal scars that started just under his left armpit and ended on his right hip. The ropey scar felt weird to the touch, quite unlike the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. There was no pain in the scars: it was all internal. While the Healers had managed to repair most of the damage done to his internal organs and then closed the wounds, it would be years before Harry had any relief from the constant pain of the spell; the damage done to his body was too great. Voldemort had wanted to give him a lasting reminder of their battle, but Harry was just as determined that the pain would not keep him from living the life for which he’d worked so hard. Still, the sight of the scars repulsed him and made him wonder if he should have given in and died instead. With that thought, he reached for his shirt and hid the evidence of battle.

Half an hour later, he was standing just inside the safe zone surrounding number twelve, Grimmauld Place, ready to begin his morning walk. He felt more energized this morning than he had yesterday and wondered if the prospect of seeing his new friend was the cause.

*****

Mornings were not Ginny’s favourite time of the day. They never had been, especially if they started off incredibly early like hers did, courtesy of her job and the mode of transportation she employed to get to work. Funnily enough, once she entered the hospital, her demeanour changed almost instantly because she couldn’t wait to greet her patients and help them get on with their lives.

This morning, however, she was ready for work just a little earlier than usual, her cup of tea at her elbow and her newspaper folded just so. The only difference between today and any other morning was that she was facing the window instead of her flat. She wanted to know the exact point at which Harry entered her street. She hoped that they could walk as far as the nearest Underground entrance together.

Harry turned the far corner of her street right on time, a little early, in fact. Ginny left her empty mug and the newspaper on the table, grabbed her handbag, the box with the birthday cake in it, and her keys and was locking her door just as Harry stopped in front of her building.

“Good morning,” they exclaimed at the same time and shared smiles of greeting.

After a short pause, Ginny spoke first. “Are you feeling better this morning?”

Harry replied that he was and asked, “Are you taking the Underground to work this morning?”

“I am,” she replied as they fell into step.

“I’ll come with you as far as the stairs, then,” Harry said.

They filled the time they had together getting to know one another a little better. Ginny told Harry about her numerous brothers and the Weasley family farm in Devon. Harry mentioned growing up with his mother’s sister’s family in Surrey. He made the experience sound rather awful, even though he offered no specifics. By the time they reached the Underground entrance, they had agreed to meet in this exact spot at the end of her shift with the thought of trying the new bistro that had opened down the street from the Underground stop.

“You’ve been rather chipper today, Ginny,” one of the other nurses commented eight hours later as they changed into street clothes at the end of the day. 

“I have?” she asked, surprise.

“Yes, several of the patients noticed the smile on your face early this morning, you know, the one that’s never gone away, and asked me what I’d put in your coffee to make you smile so much,” her co-worker commented. “You’ve been humming on and off all day, too.”

Ginny thought about it for a moment and realized that she _had_ been humming while she worked. She also knew that she wanted to keep her friendship with Harry to herself for a little while. “I’m just happy today.”

“Hmph. There’s more to it, I say,” the other nurse pressed. “Meet anyone lately?”

Ginny sighed happily. “You guessed it. I made a new friend yesterday and we’re meeting for dinner later.”

“Good for you, girl! Have fun tonight!”

“I plan to,” was Ginny’s heartfelt reply. She banged her locker shut, then fairly flew out of the changing room and out of the hospital in her eagerness to get to the Underground to meet Harry.

*****

Hermione breezed into the Grimmauld Place kitchen at lunchtime, bringing a sack of bananas, sandwiches, crisps and two bottles of Coke from the corner shop. She began talking as soon as the kitchen door banged open.

“I know you aren’t hungry, Harry, but you must try to eat something. I brought you an egg salad sandwich, since those seem to stay down if you eat them slow enough. We haven’t had fizzy drinks in a while, so if you want to try it, I brought a bottle for you. If you want water, we can always save it for when Seamus comes over again. In addition to lunch, I brought some take-away soup for your dinner since I have plans. Or, if you’re not feeling well, I guess I could cancel my plans.” She wasn’t even looking at him as she bustled about the kitchen, continuing her monologue without pause. “I also brought my latest legislation proposal for you to proofread. You do such a good job of editing and this is such an important piece, much better than the house-elf regulations that were passed two weeks ago. Oh, Susan Bones told me to tell you hello and that Ernie Macmillan proposed to her last night and that they hope you’ll be well enough to attend their wedding at Christmas.” She paused just long enough to set everything out on the plates she had floated to the table, then shoved one across to where Harry was sitting silently chuckling at her. She finally turned toward him, eying him suspiciously, then continued, “Then there’s the news that Minister Shacklebolt is finally being installed as the permanent Minister for Magic. _The Daily Prophet_ took a poll and it seems the public doesn’t want a vote to be called, they just want him to stay as Minister, so the Wizengamot broke a nearly three-hundred-year-old rule and set the date for the installation for two weeks from yesterday. Why the Wizengamot is listening to that rag of a newspaper I’ll never know! Anyway, I know you probably won’t want to go…” Hermione trailed off as Harry broke out in nearly a full belly laugh, staring at him as though he had suddenly sprouted a second head.

“What’s so funny, Harry? Have you mixed up your potions again?” she asked, annoyed.

Harry smiled at her. “I’m absolutely brilliant, Hermione. I had a good walk this morning, I’m feeling much better, I’m hungry, I took all my potions correctly and I won’t need dinner tonight, so don’t feel guilty about having dinner with that new witch at the Ministry you were telling me about yesterday and I think it’s terrific that Kingsley is being made permanent Minister for Magic,” he said, his smile broadening.

She stared at him for a long moment, trying to decide how to approach this new turn of events. “I’ll believe you’re hungry when half that sandwich disappears and you tell me why you’re not going to need dinner tonight,” she finally said sceptically in her best Andromeda Tonks no-nonsense tone. 

The older witch had put Harry in his place several weeks ago when she had brought his seven-year-old godson, Teddy, to see him and found he was only able to keep down small sips of water. Hermione had walked in on Andromeda’s lecture and added a few points of her own.

To prove his point, Harry took a large bite of his sandwich and chewed slowly, seeming to be savouring the herby-tasting sauce that complimented the boiled eggs. Hermione opened her mouth to protest that he shouldn’t eat so fast, but decided to bide her time and be there when Harry headed for the nearest toilet, as he usually did when he ate too fast these days. She watched in trepidation as he finished the entire sandwich, washed it down with several swallows of the Coke, and started on the crisps.

Finally, she asked, “Who are you and what have you done with Harry Potter?”

The innocent expression on his face made her want to interrogate him, but she held her counsel as he said, “Hermione, I’m still me. For some wonderful reason, I’m feeling much better and I’ve decided to go out to dinner in Muggle London tonight. You’ve been telling me I need to get out more, so I’m going. If I choose what I eat carefully, I don’t think I’ll have any problems.

“Now tell me more about what I’ll be editing this afternoon,” he finished.

“Er, I’m finally proposing legislation to reverse all of Delores Umbridge’s werewolf rules,” she began, warming up to her subject. She knew that Harry would read every bit of what she was telling him in her file, but this was the first time he’d taken any interest in what she was proposing and it felt good to talk to him about something they had both wanted for a long time. While it was too late to make Remus Lupin’s life easier, there were others who would benefit from the reversal of Umbridge’s Werewolf Regulations.

The grandfather clock in the entrance hall upstairs chimed one o’clock and they both froze, listening for Mrs Black’s portrait to start yelling. It didn’t, and the two shared a smile. With a reluctant glance at her watch, Hermione rose from her seat and prepared to go back to the office. “I’ll let myself out, Harry. Don’t get up. You’ll need to conserve your strength if you’re going out tonight,” she said.

Harry rose slowly to his feet and walked around the table to give her a hug. “I’ll be careful, sis,” he said with affection in his tone. “Do you want me to Floo call you when I get in tonight?”

“Not necessary. Call Seamus or Justin if you need help. They’re both supposed to be home,” Hermione reminded him.

“I will. Now go before your boss sends you a nasty, purple, paper airplane,” Harry chuckled, propelling her gently towards the stairs. “Have a good time tonight.”

With one last backward glance, Hermione told him she would and headed back to her office.

*****

Harry took his customary nap in the middle of the afternoon before dressing carefully for his rendezvous with Ginny. He didn’t want to call it a date because to do so without consulting Ginny was inviting disaster. He knew enough about women to know that presumptions were most likely going to get him in trouble and at this point in their friendship, he didn’t want to do anything wrong… other than hold back the fact that he was a wizard…

It was still warm when he exited his home and started walking toward Ginny’s Underground entrance. It was several degrees cooler than it had been yesterday, however, so his energy output was much less this evening. This translated into what Harry termed a spring in his step, although he knew he was still walking much slower than the average Muggle his age. 

Ginny was waiting for him when he turned the corner and began searching the crowded sidewalk for her. The first thing he noticed was that she’d let her hair out of its bun and it flowed around her face and shoulders like a red Spanish mantilla. 

“Ginny, you look nice tonight. I like your hair down,” he declared as he walked up to her.

She blushed and glanced around at the people hurrying past them. “Thanks,” she murmured shyly.

Amazed that he’d embarrassed her, Harry changed the subject. “Which restaurant would you like to go to?”

Ginny pointed half a block down their side of the street to the sign for The Bluefish Grill. “That one, if it’s alright with you,” she said. “I’ve watched the construction crews renovating the space over the last four months and when they put the menus in the window six weeks ago, I knew I wanted to try it.”

They only had to wait a few minutes for a table and were soon seated by the front window. One glance at the menu told Harry he needed to choose his meal carefully because many of the dishes sounded incredibly rich to him. He finally settled on vegetable soup and grilled sea bass—two items in his “somewhat boring” category which made it more likely that he’d keep his dinner down for the second night in a row.

“What are you having?” Ginny asked carefully. He told her and she nodded absently, worrying her bottom lip.

“Ginny,” and when she looked up, he continued, “You can get anything you want. You fed me last night. I’d like to treat you tonight.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, and seemed more relaxed, making Harry think she was worried because she’d asked to come to so expensive a restaurant. He hoped she would order what she wanted rather than order something less expensive than what he had chosen and not to her liking. When their waiter took their orders, she smiled at him and ordered a more expensive meal; Harry was happy she did.

The food was delicious. Harry ate slowly, letting his body tell him when to quit eating. Ginny seemed to be enjoying herself immensely as their conversation jumped spontaneously from one subject to another until their waiter came to take their plates.

“I can’t believe I finished everything and don’t feel sick,” Harry told Ginny as he watched his empty plate being carried away. At her raised eyebrow, he added, “For the second night in a row I don’t think I’ll have any trouble keeping my meal down. I… there’s something about you that makes me relax enough to enjoy myself. Thank you.”

Ginny blushed prettily as the waiter came back with a dessert cart. Harry glanced up at him and asked both Ginny and the waiter, “Crème Brule with two spoons, please? And a pot of tea, too.” The waiter nodded at the pleased expression on Ginny’s face.

“Harry,” Ginny began as they broke through the caramelized sugar on their dessert, “you said you’ve not been keeping food down. Has this been going on for a long time? I’m just curious about your comment. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she added.

“It’s all right,” he said. “I want you to know because you’ll understand more than most people I know. Two years ago, I was hurt very badly in, erm, hand-to-hand combat. I was in a coma for nearly a year and my recovery after I woke up has been long and slow because of the nature of my injuries.”

“Have your doctors tried different treatments to improve your food intake?” Ginny asked.

“My problem is the medications I’m taking,” Harry invented wildly. Hermione had come up with that falsehood just in case he came across this exact situation and he gratefully employed it. “I’ve had several setbacks when a new med didn’t work or played havoc with the others I was taking. I’m in the case study for the pain meds because my doctors have tried everything they can think of to help my pain. For now, it seems to be working.”

Ginny looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “I thought that might be the case.” She reached into the pudding dish and scraped out the last little bit of custard. “I’m glad you’ve found something that works for you. Some of my patients are struggling with similar problems.”

Their waiter chose that moment to bring their bill and handed it to Harry. He counted out the right amount, added a generous tip and stood up. “Ready?”

Ginny followed him out of the restaurant and fell into step beside him as they headed back toward her flat. Harry switched his walking cane to his other hand just in case there was the possibility of making contact with her hand. When his hand brushed hers halfway through their walk, he gently wrapped his fingers around hers and glanced sideways at her in time to see her jump a little at the contact and then blush in the light of a street lamp. His stomach did a happy little flip-flop that had nothing to do with food rejection and everything to do with how nice the contact made him feel.

All too soon they reached the flat with the window box. “I’ve had a lovely evening, Harry. Thank you for dinner,” Ginny said as they stood outside her door. She fumbled with her key. “Would you like to come in?”

“Not tonight,” Harry said. “I had a good time, too. May I walk you to the Underground tomorrow morning?”

“I’d like that,” she said.

“Until tomorrow, then,” Harry said, and on impulse, leaned in and kissed her gently on the cheek, before turning and heading for home.

*****

Ginny watched Harry walk away with a fluttery feeling in her stomach. Only one other man had kissed her like he had on the first date and that had been the start of a very pleasant relationship. She closed the door and leaned on it after turning the lock. She could hardly wait for morning to come.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Hermione continue to develop their relationships.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am hoping this chapter will bring a smile to you as Hermione and Harry go out on dates with their soon to be significant others.  
> I am indebted to Melindaleo, Mutt n Feathers, Cackling Stump and Brennus for the time they took to help me make this chapter readable.

Over the next few weeks, Hermione watched as Harry’s health and attitude improved amazingly quickly. He was gaining weight steadily and had lost the skeletal look that had plagued him since he had awakened from his coma, all because he was keeping his food down. At his monthly check-up — which Hermione was in the habit of attending as his carer — Madam Pomfrey remarked on it and Harry had shrugged it off as improvement in the London weather that allowed him to enjoy the outdoors more. The two witches had shared a look and shaken their heads; Hermione silently promised the matron that she’d find out the real cause.

The other improvement was rather pleasant for Hermione; mostly because with Harry’s sunnier disposition, Grimmauld Place felt lighter to her. When she realized that she had stopped worrying quite so much about Harry and was now concentrating on her own life, she _knew_ something was up… something good had come into her friend’s life that he wasn’t quite ready to share with her yet.

_It has to be a woman!_ she told herself after a particularly pleasing evening with Harry. They’d talked about all sorts of things not related to his health and definitely not about possible potions and treatments that might help Harry get rid of the curse’s after-effects. In fact, the evening reminded her of some of the conversations they’d had while on the Horcrux hunt. They had become very close during the four years they’d been on the run, cementing their roles as surrogate brother and sister as they learned about each other’s hopes, dreams and preferences. It had helped that Harry knew so much about being a Muggle; some of the wizards Hermione had gone out with since the war ended were absolutely useless when out in Muggle London, a place Hermione loved to go. Harry, on the other hand, knew how to use a telephone and household appliances that plugged in without being amazed; knew how to take the Underground; and had a rudimentary idea of what happened in the cinema, even if the films he knew about were all action films from the 1990s.

As she left Grimmauld Place at the end of the evening, she decided a bit of “research” on her part would prove whether or not Harry was seeing someone. She suspected that he had met her while on his daily walks. It would be easy to find out since Harry had a specific route he followed. All she had to do was Disillusion herself and Apparate to each street Harry walked down. If he stopped and chatted someone up, she would have her answer. The day after tomorrow would do nicely because she wasn’t expected in her office until nine that morning and Harry walked from half six to half seven. Happy that she had a plan, Hermione Apparated home to her house.

She had a surprise the next day that drove all thoughts of her plan out of her head when a paper airplane landed on her desk that was not in any way related to work. A little note from Anthony Goldstein—who worked as a solicitor in the International Magical Office of Law—accompanied an announcement of a concert at the British Museum asking her if she would like to accompany him this coming Thursday, two days hence. Normally, Hermione would have refused, citing her obligation to Harry, but she really liked Anthony, liked working with him and wanted to get to know him better. With a small smile on her face, she accepted his invitation and inquired about attire and when and where to meet him. Anthony showed up in her office at lunch time to make the arrangements in person and they spent a very pleasant hour eating together.

It had been a long time since Hermione had attended a chamber music concert and she enjoyed herself immensely. Anthony was surprisingly knowledgeable about the pieces they were hearing and when asked, revealed that he was a violinist. This was a pleasant surprise, indeed.

“Would you play for me sometime?” she asked during the interval.

Anthony’s cheeks coloured slightly as he admitted, “I haven’t had much time to practice since the war ended and we left Hogwarts. Besides, my teacher was killed in the First Battle and for a long time I didn’t want to entertain the possibility of taking lessons from someone else. Now, it’s been so long I think I’ve forgotten most of what I learned.”

“Lots of adults take music lessons, Anthony. If you’re settled enough in your job that you want to play again, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t,” Hermione told him. “My dad bowls on Friday evenings and my mum took up Tai Chi after I went to Hogwarts. I’m not sure what I want to try that could become my release from stress, but I’ll find something eventually. It sounds to me like you’re contemplating going back to music because it relaxes you.”

Her companion was silent for nearly a minute before he said, “You’ve convinced me, Hermione. I have several names of possible teachers and I’m going to contact them soon. You’ll be the first to hear me play, once I’ve perfected a new piece.”

Hermione had smiled at this and hoped she would indeed be able to hear Anthony play. Since that evening, they had met regularly for lunch on the days she wasn’t at Harry’s.

*****

When Harry learned about the concert Anthony Goldstein had taken Hermione to, the cogs in his brain started working overtime. He liked music, especially the kind that didn’t involve electric guitars and deafening amplifiers, although his preferred group, The Weird Sisters, employed both. He supposed it had to do with what the musicians did with the guitars and amplifiers that he objected to. He’d had to listen to enough of that sort of noise coming through Dudley’s wall when he was sequestered on Privet Drive growing up. What he remembered of orchestral or chamber music was from concerts his primary classes had gone to and vague audio memories from when he was in the coma. 

Contrary to what many believed, Harry had drifted towards consciousness many times during his “lost year” as he liked to call it. Many of his friends thought he’d just lain in bed letting his body and magic slowly recover while he “slept it off.” In fact, that was not the case at all: he had regularly drifted close to consciousness, especially when he heard familiar voices or pleasantly soothing music. He now knew that one of the Healers at St Mungo’s had regularly come to his room and played recordings of works by Mozart, Bach and Schumann. Now that he was a fully aware and functioning member of society again, Harry wanted to hear the music in person… and he wanted to share the experience with Ginny.

Hermione had told him that Anthony had found out about the concert through a Muggle computer website. Harry listened to her description of the music with only one ear while the other thought about ways he could look up concerts to take Ginny to. He almost gave himself away whooping in happiness—which he turned into a cough—when he realized that libraries had computers people could use and that his magic was sufficiently low enough that he wouldn’t short out the machine if he sat in front of it!

Subsequently, as soon as Hermione left to go back to her office, Harry grabbed his walking cane and some Muggle money and headed for the nearest phone box to see if he could find a nearby public library. There was one within walking distance and Harry was pleased when he arrived to find that he still had energy to carry out his search. He was also gratified to find he didn’t need to stand at the computer terminals, so he sat down and pressed a key on the keyboard to wake up the screen.

“Please type in your library card number for access to the network,” he read. Rather annoyed, he stood up and went in search of a librarian to remedy this little setback.

Twenty minutes later, he was again sitting at one of the terminals, typing in his search criteria. There were several concerts listed, most of which were going to be played half-way across the city and Harry wanted to go to a concert closer to home. Then, he saw it; an advertisement for a “Flower Concert” to be held the next Friday in Manchester Square at the Wallace Collection. The advert listed works by Bizet, Debussy, Britten, Puccini, Delibes, and several other composers. There would be a variety of music, including vocal works, piano solos and chamber pieces. The concert was exactly what he wanted in a place that sounded very interesting with its collection of paintings, furniture, weapons and medieval suits of armour. He hoped the concert would interest Ginny, so he copied down the information, the telephone number of the museum and the price of the tickets.

An hour later, he stumbled through his invitation to the concert when he met Ginny at her Underground stop.

“You want me to go with you to a concert, on a … a _date?_ ” she asked, sounding surprised.

“I want to go to the concert and thought you might like to go with me,” Harry explained, trying very hard not to sound disappointed. This was not how he thought inviting Ginny would go. “It’s all right if you don’t want to go. I don’t even know if you like music like that.”

Ginny stopped walking and tugged on his sleeve to stop him, too. “Harry, I’m just surprised. I had guessed that you didn’t think of me as date material since you hadn’t asked me out yet. I will admit I was hoping you would, though,” she said when he turned to face her. 

“It took me a while to get up the nerve, you know because it was more that I didn’t think of myself as date material,” Harry muttered. “Would you like to go to the concert with me?”

“I’d like that very much, Harry,” she said, smiling at him. “It sounds like a fun evening. What do I need to wear?”

They talked about their impending date until they reached her flat. Harry completed his walk home with a grin that he couldn’t suppress.

*****

On the appointed evening, Harry dressed carefully in his best Muggle attire, an entirely new suit in charcoal grey, with a white shirt and dark red tie that he’d purchased the day after he invited Ginny to the concert. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror just before he left the house, he tried valiantly to get his hair to lay down, but eventually gave it up as a bad deal when both the mirror and his watch told him he was going to be late if he fussed with it much longer.

He was excited. He and Ginny had decided he’d pick her up forty-five minutes before the concert started, they’d listen to the music, maybe have time to wander some of the galleries, and then find a restaurant for a meal afterwards. Just making the arrangements had been exciting for Harry because he’d only gone on one other date in his life and that had been ten years ago! He reflected on this as he flagged down a cab and rode to Ginny’s flat.

“Please wait,” he requested as he climbed from the vehicle and walked to her door.

“A cab, Harry?” she asked, looking over his shoulder when she opened the door. “I thought we were walking.”

Harry glanced down to see that she had her trainers on with her dress. “We have time if you’d like to change,” he told her.

“Won’t be a moment,” she said, already slipping out of the sensible shoes. A moment later she wobbled towards him on the high heeled sandals she had apparently had in her hand bag. “OK. Ready!”

Harry offered her his arm and they began their evening.

*****

When the cab pulled under the port cochère of the Wallace Collection building, Ginny took her time exiting the back seat. It felt so grand to have Harry pay the driver, walk around the back of the vehicle to open her door for her and then offer his hand, which she accepted. Together, still holding hands, they walked to the door and were admitted after Harry presented the attendant with their tickets.

“The doors to the West Gallery will open in twenty-five minutes,” the attendant told them. “Until then, you have access to the galleries on the ground floor of the museum. These include the Billiard Room, the Hall and the Sixteenth Century Gallery, and the Armouries. Enjoy the concert.”

Ginny murmured her thanks and followed Harry through the doorway to their left into a gallery filled with beautiful paintings. Sitting on the floor in front of the paintings were pieces of beautifully preserved period furniture. There were several desks, a chest of drawers and some small tables that caught her interest and she bent down to examine the intricate marquetry work on the top of one of the desks.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Harry inquired. “I’ve always been amazed at how the woodworkers were able to fit the pieces together with their rudimentary tools.”

Ginny tilted her head as she thought about what he’d said. “I suppose modern tools would make the process easier, but one does have to start with the same basic patterns and materials nowadays that they had long ago,” she commented. “It’s the knowledge of how the pieces are put together that sets these craftsmen apart.”

“I agree. I also think life was slower two hundred years ago,” Harry said. “People took pride in their work, in making furniture and art objects beautiful, in doing a job well. Everyone seems in such a hurry these days, rushing off to work in the mornings. There’s this chap who passes me on his way to the Underground every morning who usually has one mobile clamped to his belt, and he’s talking on another while juggling a coffee cup, and fishing for his tube fare. Yesterday, he tripped on a loose shoelace and spilled the coffee all over his messenger bag. He didn’t even stop to mop up or tie his shoe!”

Ginny giggled, “I’ve seen him. He takes a different train than I do, but he’s unmistakable the way he never has enough hands for all his stuff. He walks so fast, too, that I’ve often wondered where the fire is.”

Harry chuckled and they continued to study the paintings. Eventually, he pointed in the direction of the Armoury Galleries. Ginny smiled and led the way into the next room. She would have much preferred to stay in the gallery they’d just left—she’d only had a few moments to look for the flying shoe in Fragonard’s painting _The Swing_ —but since their time was short, it was only fair to view something that seemed to interest Harry.

His soft, “oh my!” made her smile. In the middle of the floor were horse statues wearing armour obviously made to match the rider’s. The walls of this room were lined with case after case containing weapons of all sorts, full suits of armour and paintings of people wearing the armour. Even if she wasn’t really interested in the mail shirts or rusty spears, she could spend some happy minutes studying the paintings. Ginny glanced over her shoulder as Harry walked up to one of the cases and began studying the armour inside. She sensed that this room and the next one was really what he had come to see.

*****

The evening seemed to be going well, Harry thought. He was enjoying himself immensely and it seemed Ginny was, too. She was a quieter companion than Hermione was at a museum, but she was no less observant than his long-time friend. Where Hermione would have read up on everything they would see beforehand and then spent ten minutes in front of every painting pontificating on how the artist had used light and shadow to render his subject, Ginny’s remarks showed him how _she_ saw each painting or object they talked about. He liked that.

Then, they stepped into the Armoury and the room took his breath away. Memories from his past assailed his senses. It was as if he was eleven years old following the Gryffindor prefect up through Hogwarts Castle past the suits of armour standing on their plinths or discovering the Hogwarts Armoury on the night of the last battle, which had been stocked to the rafters with magical swords, javelins, and shields, anything he’d need to protect himself from the Death Eaters in addition to his wand. Harry wandered slowly away from Ginny towards a suit of armour, wondering if he’d seen this exact design in the castle. As he stood studying the tiny rings of the mail shirt, the museum seemed to fade away to be replaced by a very real Hogwarts castle.

_Harry and Hermione stepped out from behind a tapestry on the seventh floor and sprinted down the corridor towards a niche adjacent to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. They had just narrowly avoided being sucked into a heated duel between Bellatrix Lestrange and Susan Bones, Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott and Justin Finch-Fletchley and needed the relative safety of the common room in order to regroup; the battle was going badly for the Hogwarts defenders and Harry wanted to see the battle field from a bird’s point of view. The Astronomy Tower would have given him the best possible viewpoint, but the Death Eaters had knocked it down ten minutes ago. Gryffindor Tower was the next highest tower on this side of the castle._

_“Do you think the Fat Lady will recognize us?” Hermione worried as they huddled together in the shadows behind the empty plinth. “It’s been five years since we last asked to be admitted to the common room.”_

_“You know she will if we have the correct password,” Harry told her tersely._

_“But what if she’s abandoned her frame?” she continued. “It could be hours before she returns.”_

_Harry sighed. “Professor Redfield told me that the Fat Lady has been instructed to stay in her frame no matter how exciting the fighting might become elsewhere. It won’t be like last time. He said the tower was the safest place if I needed to regroup.”_

_“All right. If you trust his word… Oh, I wish Professor McGonagall was still alive!”_

_“I do.” Harry peered around the plinth: the corridor was empty. “Let’s go,” he whispered, and grabbing Hermione’s hand, quickly approached the painting. Their luck was holding; the Fat Lady was still vigilant._

_Hermione stepped very close to the painting and intoned in a whisper, “Galahad.”_

_The painting swung forward and Harry stepped through into the quiet of the deserted common room, Hermione at his heels. He crossed the room to the windows and peered out. Unfortunately, it was too dark to see much except flashes of spellfire, so he turned to one of the study tables and spread the Marauder’s Map upon it. Grinning at Hermione, he touched his wand to the empty parchment and intoned, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”_

_“If he’s here, the map should reveal him as Tom Riddle, rather than Voldemort, right?” Hermione queried._

_“My thoughts exactly.” Harry studied the bobbing dots that spread across the castle grounds. His finger traced a line of dots moving steadily along a seventh-floor corridor in the direction of Ravenclaw Tower. A dot labelled “Neville Longbottom” led the way, followed by “Luna Lovegood.” Harry closed his eyes and silently wished his friends well; this was the end of Neville’s first year as a Hogwarts teacher and Harry hoped his friend would survive the battle to teach many more. Luna had left her father’s expedition to Thailand — where they were searching for the Lesser Round-winged Owl — two weeks ago because she felt she was needed more here than there. She’d been the one to suggest the Ravenclaw diadem might be in a Muggle museum and she’d been mostly right. Harry and Hermione had found it in an Abergavenny pawnshop ten months ago._

_“Neville must have alerted the old DA members,” Hermione murmured. “I wonder how they entered the school…” Her voice trailed off as she sighed, “I’d forgotten about the Honeydukes tunnel.” Harry smiled._

_He searched the entire map for a dot with Tom Riddle’s name on it: it just wasn’t there… yet._ We’ve still got time… _Harry thought, hoping against hope that more help would come through the tunnels soon._

_“Professor Redfield said the school had an Armoury, but he didn’t know where it was,” Harry said._

_“Only the headmaster would know stuff like that, Harry,” Hermione said sounding infinitely patient, “and Professor Redfield is just the Gryffindor head of house. Why would he know there’s an armoury?”_

_“He’s the History of Magic teacher, Hermione, and he’s rewriting_ Hogwarts: A History _to include everything you thought needed to be included in that book when we were here as students. He’s also the deputy headmaster,” Harry replied. He turned back to the map murmuring, “It has to be here… or here…” as his finger tapped two blank areas on the parchment._

_Hermione’s finger stabbed the map. “The Room of Requirement is here. Your dad and his friends didn’t know about it, so why would he know about the Armoury? They didn’t have a real need for either, so the school never showed them. We found the Room of Requirement when we needed it and the school is going to show us the Armoury now because we need it.”_

_“All right, let’s see if your logic is correct,” Harry sighed. He was tired, so tired of fighting, of running, of not being settled like so many others in his year, that he just wanted this battle to be over…_

_Folding up the map and stowing it away, he turned towards the portrait hole and led the way back out into the castle proper. Two minutes later, they approached a blank wall._

_“Professor Redfield said we needed to tell the school you need the Armoury,” Hermione reminded Harry._

_He nodded and closed his eyes, concentrating on his need for extra magical protection for the school. Hermione’s gasp told him he’d succeeded: when he opened his eyes, a non-descript door had materialized in the wall in front of them. They looked at each other, grinned, and Harry opened the door._

_As he stepped through the opening, torches began lighting up along the walls, illuminating a vast room filled with suits of armour standing in ranks and surrounded by cases of every sort of medieval weapon Harry could imagine: swords, shields, pikes, maces, daggers, spears, and lances, all beautifully preserved, sharpened and ready for battle. Professor Redfield had been right._

_“Harry, look!” Hermione exclaimed, pointing. “I recognize that suit of armour from our sixth year. And that one!” She stopped talking and Harry watched silently as she counted the lines of armour in front of them. “Harry, I think the suits of armour must take turns guarding the corridors every seven years. There are six rows of complete armour here.”_

_“You are correct, courageous lady,” a booming voice to their right proclaimed. Harry and Hermione turned towards it. The first suit of armour in the farthest row to their right had taken a step forward. “The castle is guarded by only a seventh of our number each year. The rest of us wait until we are summoned to duty. What do you require of us?”_

_Harry said, “I require a sword for myself, preferably a rapier. My friend and I are fighting alongside Professor Redfield and the Hogwarts staff and students against a Dark wizard, Lord Voldemort. Our defence is going badly. We require additional protection for the school.”_

_“As you wish,” the suit of armour replied and a sword came sailing towards Harry, who caught the scabbard deftly in his left hand. The suit turned to the rest of the assembled suits of armour. “Brothers, we are called to defend Hogwarts Castle. Arm yourselves and protect the school against the enemy!” it commanded._

_The sound of swords being unsheathed and shields hoisted immediately filled the room, followed by the thunder of hundreds of metal feet marching towards the suddenly-enlarged door. Harry and Hermione flattened themselves against the wall beside it as the suits of armour streamed out into the corridor._

_Hermione poked him in the ribs. “Why didn’t they respond to Professor Flitwick’s call when he called the suits of armour in the corridors to defend the school?” she asked._

_“I think they didn’t respond because he’s not the headmaster or the deputy head any more, he’s just a powerful, long-tenured teacher,” Harry said slowly, realizing this for the first time._

_“So, you think that maybe any teacher can call for assistance from the suits of armour in the corridors?” Hermione asked._

_Harry thought for a moment. “Yeah, I do,” he mused. “Professor Flitwick stepped down as the Deputy Headmaster after Professor McGonagall was killed and Professor Redfield took his place. When Professor Flitwick became an ordinary teacher again, he could only call the suits in the corridors again.”_

_“Then how could you call the suits in the Armoury?”_

_“My guess is that I invoked Professor Redfield’s name when I told them of the battle. Once the suit of armour knew we were on the side of the school, he was duty-bound to respond to the call, even if he was hours late.”_

_“Harry, that’s brilliant! It makes sense,” Hermione breathed._

_The last of the suits of armour left the Armoury at that moment, leaving the Harry and Hermione standing in the vast, empty room and Harry with a sword that hummed magically in his hand. It would save his life more than once as the battle escalated toward its climax…_

A hand on his sleeve, brought Harry out of his memories.

“Harry, where’d you go? I’ve been trying to get your attention for several minutes,” Ginny said. She looked worried. “They’ve opened the doors to the West Gallery. We need to find seats.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said vaguely. “Memories. I’m afraid I was wool-gathering.” He offered Ginny his arm. “Shall we?”

Ginny tucked her hand around his arm and they went to find seats.

*****

The concert’s theme was flowers and gardens, and began with piano solos by composers such as Debussy, Strauss and Byrd. These were followed by a string quartet first playing short works that included Puccini’s _Crisantemi_ and a lovely piece about a garden by Debussy. During the short interval, Ginny turned to Harry.

“How are you doing?” she asked, genuinely concerned. “I’ve never seen someone so completely lost in a memory that it took minutes to get their attention. You scared me.”

Harry closed his eyes. When he opened them, he said, “Ginny, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. The memory triggered by the armour was a good one, one that possibly saved my life. It definitely saved the lives of many of my comrades in arms at a time when reinforcements were badly needed. So yeah, I’m doing well tonight and enjoying the music. What about you?”

“So, you have PTSD flashbacks,” she persisted, still trying to understand what Harry had experienced. “I won’t pry because I know the memories are intensely personal. Now that I know you have them, I won’t be scared next time.”

“If anyone would understand, it would be you, Ginny, because in your profession you probably come across many people with PTSD,” Harry said. “Many of my friends have someone they can talk to and—” Harry paused, suddenly anxious and needing to gather his courage to ask, “—if you don’t mind, I’d like you to be that person for me. I trust you.” 

Ginny felt her eyes grow wide. _He trusts me with this, even though we’ve only known each other for a month!_ she marvelled. “I’m flattered,” she told him aloud. “You’re a remarkable man, Harry, and I promise I won’t betray your trust in me.”

Harry squeezed her hand. “I knew that first day I could trust you, Ginny. You took such good care of me and didn’t ask any questions. That was important to me.”

“I’m glad,” she murmured. She looked at her handbill as the second half of the evening’s entertainment started. The programme listed several solos for various voices which were followed by works of ever bigger numbers of singers until a small choir of twelve singers finished the choral portion with a piece by Benjamin Britten called _Five Flower Songs._ Ginny closed her eyes and let the music surround her, bringing her peace. She had always loved music and had participated in several choirs back in Devon. This was choral music at its finest, she decided, and sighed a happy sigh. When she opened her eyes at the end of the last song, she discovered that two of the women had stepped forward.

“An evening dedicated to flowers would not be complete without the _Flower Duet_ from the opera ‘Lakmé’ by Léo Delibes. My fellow soprano and I will now sing it for you,” one of the singers said. She nodded at the pianist who began the introduction.

Again, Ginny closed her eyes as the two voices wove their beauty in tight harmonies and words describing the flowers the two singers were gathering. At the end, the audience burst into applause. Several people called out, “Brava!” 

Harry nudged Ginny. “I take it you understood what the singers were singing about,” he commented as they waited for the others in their row of chairs to exit.

“The aria was in French,” Ginny told him. “My eldest sister-in-law is French and one of the things she did to try to befriend me when she and my brother were first married was tell me about several of the great French operas. So, yes, I do know what they were singing about.”

“I never learned another language,” Harry admitted. “I was always too busy preparing for battle to study one.”

“It’s never too late to begin, if you put your mind to it,” Ginny said, smiling at him.

Harry snorted quietly. “You sound like my friend Hermione,” he said. “She’s always trying to get me to try new things whether it’s eating new foods or taking up a hobby. I think you’d like her.”

“Have you known each other long?” Ginny asked, wondering why Harry had brought another woman up while on a date with her.

“We went to school together, were in combat together. She’s the sister I never had,” Harry explained. “She’s the one who advocates for me when I’m feeling too sick to really understand what the doctors want me to try next.”

Ginny let go of the breath she’d been holding. “She must be very important to you,” she murmured.

“She is, but she has her own life and hanging around me all the time doesn’t let her have the freedom to go on dates or fall in love, like so many of our other friends have done,” Harry said sounding incredibly sad. “I’m grateful for what she’s done for me, but now that I’m feeling better, doing better, it’s time Hermione did something for herself.”

“You’re an incredibly understanding man, Harry,” Ginny said. “Not many people would appreciate what someone like Hermione had done for them. She’s lucky to have you for her friend.”

“I’m the lucky one to have her.” Harry smiled and stood up; their row had emptied while they were talking. “Are you ready to go find some dinner?”

Ginny considered his question. “Yes, definitely,” she said, grinning.

They found a small French restaurant a couple of blocks from the museum — Harry seemed to have scouted the neighbourhood for possible places to eat — and were shown to a table outside, and even though it was late, there were plenty of other patrons. Ginny supposed they had gone to the theatre or concerts like she and Harry had done.

They lingered over their meal, talking about the music on the programme they’d heard. Harry seemed to be partial to the instrumental pieces, while she liked the choral half of the evening.

“I’m glad I found a concert we both enjoyed,” he said as they strolled back towards her flat. “Would you like to do this again at another museum? The British Museum, perhaps?”

“I would,” Ginny said. “I’d also like to go back to the Wallace to see more of the paintings and sculptures sometime. We barely had enough time to scratch the surface. I also noticed some posters announcing tours, special exhibits and lectures in the lobby that looked interesting as we walked in. There’s even a hands-on event each Saturday in the Armoury.”

“Let’s talk about what you’d like to do together this weekend tomorrow morning,” Harry said, and Ginny had the impression that he’d had enough of the armour for one evening.

At her door, Harry again kissed her cheek. “Thanks for coming with me, Ginny,” he said, sounding suddenly shy.

“I had a fun evening, Harry,” she told him sincerely. “I’d forgotten how good it feels to dress up and attend a concert.” She almost added, _especially when my date is as nice as you,_ but she didn’t. Instead, she asked, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“I’ll be here to escort you to your train.”

With that, Ginny smiled and wiggled her fingers as she closed and locked her door. It had been an incredible evening and she found that she was rapidly falling for her handsome new friend. Sleep would be hard to come by tonight; she had a lot to think about.

*****  
Back in his room at Grimmauld Place, Harry sat at his desk in the library and pulled a photo towards him.

“Sirius,” he said to the photo that waved and smiled at him, “you always said I’d find someone to trust and maybe even love. I think I’ve found that someone, an incredible woman whose caring and intelligence matches Hermione’s. She’s patient, letting me decide how much and what to tell her. I’ve trusted her with some of my memories and she didn’t probe when I couldn’t finish my thoughts, like Hermione does sometimes. I think I’m falling in love with her…”


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione discovers the reason for Harry's improved health.

The telephone ringing beside her bed woke Ginny on her day off far too early for her to answer civilly…especially when the caller was Ron. Of all her remaining brothers, Ron was the one whose remarks rankled the deepest, mostly because at one time the two had been so close. In addition, since Ron had never fully grown up, his mouth was often uncensored, which proved to be a constant source of aggravation to everyone in her family. Ginny had tried for a very long time to put up with Ron’s cruel remarks, but when he’d told their family that he’d seen evidence on Fred’s chart that Ginny had tampered with Fred’s meds to make his organs shut down, that was the last straw. Ginny quit her job and moved to London after the hospital conducted an investigation into Ron’s accusations and found them to be false.

She’d had three months of family-free calm in her new flat before Percy had discovered her telephone number and given it to their mother. There had been only one phone call between the two during which Molly had begged Ginny to return home to apologize to her brothers for her part in Fred’s death. Ginny had refused, knowing she hadn’t done anything to apologize for. 

Ron was the next to learn she actually had a telephone and now he was a regular pain in arse, calling her at least once a week. This morning proved to be no exception.

Groaning when her caller identification flashed his name, Ginny pushed the answer button and demanded, “What do you want, Ron?”

“Mum wants to know when you’re coming home,” he said without preamble. “You haven’t been home in six months and she’s getting anxious.”

“And I suppose you volunteered to ask me oh-so-politely to come home,” Ginny fumed. 

“Yeah, I did.”

“Well, if you’re going to be there, I’m not coming home. I left Devon because you still refuse to accept that I had nothing to do with Fred’s death. Besides, I work, Ron, unlike you. I have responsibilities that I can’t shirk and patients who depend on me. If you’re going to start belittling me the moment I come in the door, like you did last time, Mum can just be anxious or come to see _me_ for once.”

“I work,” Ron whinged. “I help Dad with the planting and the animals.”

“Really? When was the last time you volunteered to get your hands greasy repairing the threshing machine or maintaining the tractor? When did you help Dad with lambing or shearing? All you do is sit around and play video games! That’s not a real job!” Ginny had never understood her brother’s fascination with the entertainment medium, even though Ron had gone to Uni to learn how to code games.

He spluttered, then said, “Dad always redoes whatever I do with the equipment and you know I’m allergic to wool. That’s why I studied what I did. I’m good at designing games, unlike you, who would rather kill people slowly by giving them the wrong medicine.”

“We’re back to that again, are we?” Ginny shot back. “Well, I’m not listening to it.” She disconnected the call and pushed the “block” button under Ron’s number. She knew he wouldn’t call her again today, so it would take him a couple of weeks to discover that he couldn’t get through to her and start using someone else’s phone. In the meantime, she wouldn’t have to listen to his accusations. In her heart, she hoped Ron would accept Fred’s death for what it was. Their brother had died from a disease that had rapidly taken over his body, and she hadn’t hastened his death in any way. 

Sighing, she switched off the phone and tried to go back to sleep. When it wouldn’t come, she lay in bed for another half hour until it was light enough to make tea without turning on any lights.

*****

Hermione hadn’t forgotten her silent promise to Madam Pomfrey to find out the truth about why Harry was improving. Other, more pleasant, things had just been put at the top of her priority list of late. 

Today, she was up early and ready to put her plan into action. At precisely half six, she Disillusioned herself and Apparated to the first street Harry always walked down. Two minutes later, he came stumping down the street at a fairly fast clip. Hermione hid behind a parked car and watched as he passed her hiding place. As he neared the end of the street, Hermione watched carefully as he crossed and began walking down the next street on her list. Several streets later, she had her answer as she watched Harry stop at the door of an old Victorian house that had a window box under the ground floor window. She watched as Harry rang the bell several times before a woman dressed in a dressing gown and pyjamas answered the door. Harry took one look at the woman’s distressed face and held out his arms. The woman seemed to melt into his embrace and after a few moments, invited Harry into her flat.

That was all the evidence Hermione needed. She removed the Disillusionment Spell and Disapparated to report to Madam Pomfrey.

*****

Harry steered Ginny gently to her sofa and pulled her down onto his lap. “Ginny, love, what’s got you so upset?” he asked as she lay her head on his shoulder.

Sniffing, she replied, “My brother called and woke me up. We argued and I blocked his number from my phone.”

“And you’ve been upset since?”

“Not even tea has helped.”

“Would you like to tell me about it?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got nowhere else to go today, Ginny. Would it help if you talked about it?”

“Maybe.” She reached for the tissue box and mopped her face before snuggling into Harry’s embrace. “You know I grew up with six older brothers. I now have five because Fred died eight months ago of brain cancer. It was a horrible time for my family…”

_Choroid plexus carcinoma. It was the last thing Ginny had expected when Fred had been diagnosed with a brain tumour. This one was scary because it was such a sneaky disease, with the symptoms coming on gradually as the tumour grew. In Fred’s case, it was thought that the tumour had been present for at least a year, maybe longer. It was only in the last few weeks that his headaches had become unbearable and his nausea had kept him home from work, unable to move far from the loo. There had been other tell-tale signs, but Fred, who lived alone, hadn’t bothered to tell even his twin, George, how sick he was. It was when Ginny went to visit him and found him lying on his bathroom floor that the trouble had started._

_The Weasley family had always been close-knit. Arthur and Molly had raised their sons and daughter to care for one another, to respect other people, and to help whenever called upon. While her brothers had forged careers in banking, marine ornithology, politics, retail, and gaming, Ginny had found nursing to be her calling. She’d studied hard in nursing school and graduated with honours. Her mentors had expected her to take a job in London or another large city, but she had surprised everyone by taking a position at Ottery St Mary Hospital, the hospital closest to the Weasley family farm._

_She had loved her job working on the paediatric ward. It was a happy floor to work on, challenging because many of her patients were so brave and fulfilling when the children left her care with the promise of better health. She had permission from her supervisor to bring in a new product invented by Fred and George every once in a while, the smiles and excitement in the play room always made the day brighter._

_Those happy times ended abruptly the day Fred was diagnosed. Something broke her family because he was too sick to be the happy-go-lucky prankster they all loved. Because Fred and George ran a joke shop and were together day in and day out, the first thing their mother had asked when the family gathered at the farm was why George hadn’t noticed that Fred was hiding how bad he felt. She then turned around and asked Ginny the same question. Truth be told, Ginny was just as ignorant of Fred’s symptoms as the rest of them, but because of her training, her family seemed to think that she should have known something was wrong._

_“I’m not a doctor,” she told them firmly. “I’m not allowed to diagnose a patient’s illness. I work with patients after they are diagnosed and follow someone else’s orders.”_

_“But you’re also supposed to observe their condition when you’re with them,” protested her mother._

_“That’s exactly it, Mum,” Ginny said. “How could I observe Fred when he works in another city?”_

_“You visit with him often enough,” Ron piped up. “You two are always going to museums or parks or fairs and don’t invite the rest of us.”_

_“That’s because you complain about being bored the minute you get there, Ron,” Fred said softly from his place in his dad’s reclining chair. Everyone goggled at him; they’d thought he’d fallen asleep._

_“Is there anything we can do for you?” their mother asked anxiously._

_“No, Mum, just let me be for a while. I want to talk to Ginny,” he said. He glared at the rest of his brothers. “Go outside and discuss me where I can’t hear you,” he ordered._

_“Why does she get to stay?” Ron was heard whinging as the rest of the family exited the living room._

_When the room was devoid of superfluous Weasleys, Ginny sat down on a pouf next to Fred’s chair. He reached for her hand. She held his in both of hers and gave him a sad smile._

_“Ginny, I need you to know something, and I need you to keep it to yourself until after I die,” Fred said._

_She gulped, trying to hide her surprise. “All right. What should I keep to myself?”_

_“This is the second diagnosis, not the first. I’ve known about my condition for three years. Doctor Jacobs operated on me the day after George’s wedding three years ago, doing a partial resection because of the location of the tumour. He also put in a shunt to help with the hydrocephalus.”_

_Something clicked in Ginny’s memory. “Is that why you cut your hair so short, left the reception early and then took that long holiday? We all thought you were trying to one-up George by going to that swanky hotel in the Caribbean. We had such fun comparing post cards!” she said._

_Fred grinned. “Some holiday that was. The prank was on me. I had a friend who really was going to the Caribbean mail those postcards,” he admitted. “As soon as I was fit enough, I started chemo. I did the radiation treatments as an outpatient. It was so cold that year that no one thought to question why I was wearing hats all the time.”_

_“I remember,” Ginny murmured. “Did Angelina know?”_

_“She discovered me barfing in the toilet one morning in March and demanded to know why I didn’t have anyone to help me. I told her I didn’t want my family to know. The shop had just started turning a profit and George and I had some new products we needed to patent. There was so much to do that there was never a good time to sit him down and tell him I was sick. Angelina was furious at me. She wanted to tell Mum and Dad, at least, but I wouldn’t let her. We argued and finally she said she was through with me, handed me back her engagement ring and I haven’t seen her since.”_

_“Oh, Fred, I’m so sorry,” Ginny said._

_“Don’t be. I don’t think she loved me as much as I loved her. She was never any good around sick people and taking on me and my tumour wasn’t something she could see herself doing. There was always the possibility that the cancer would metastasise and that’s what it’s done. Dr Jacobs has found a tumour growing around my spinal column that’s inoperable. Ginny, I’m not going to be around much longer. When the time comes, I won’t go to a fancy hospital in London or Manchester. I want to be near our family. Will you come see me when you can if I’m a patient at Ottery St Mary Hospital?”_

_Openly crying now, Ginny promised, “I’ll be by your side as often as I’m permitted, Fred, and I’ll be right downstairs if you need me some other time.”_

_“Thank you,” Fred breathed._

_They were silent for a while, then Ginny asked, “But why do you want me to keep the real story to myself until after you die?”_

_“No one understands this better than you do. I think you understand why I didn’t tell anyone,” he said and Ginny nodded that she did._

_Fred continued, “Besides, I’ve kept it to myself for so long everyone will take it personally that I didn’t tell them three years ago. You know Ron will have a giant chip on his shoulder and George will probably let the shop go to seed trying to make up for lost time: it’s just the way they are, you know. If they think I’ve just gotten sick, it will be easier on everyone.”_

_“What about me, Fred? What happens to me after you die and I tell them the rest of your story?”_

_Fred squeezed her hand and she met his gaze with her own. “You’re the strong one in this family, Ginny. We both know our brothers will say things they don’t mean because they’re hurting. I’m counting on you to break it to them gently, to let them know that I wanted them to live their own lives without having to worry about me and my illness. Up until today, George was happily rubbing Charlotte’s tummy every time their baby kicked, Bill and Charlie were meeting once a week for a pint, Ron was busy killing monsters, and Percy was writing speeches for the Prime Minister. If they’d stopped all that to be with me, our family would be a shell of what it’s supposed to be.”_

_“I hope you’re right,” was all Ginny could say. “It’s going to be hard, but I’ll keep your secret.”_

_The look Fred had given her was full of love and trust. “I know you will, Ginny. Thank you.”_

_Ginny stayed with Fred in the living room until he fell asleep, the first of many times she did so._

_Over the next few months, her family watched as Fred’s condition worsened. He endured two more surgeries as well as another round of chemotherapy and radiation treatments. While he could, Fred often came to visit her on the children’s ward when he was hospitalized. It became quite routine to have the oncology floor call the paediatric when they were looking for their “escapee” patient._

_“He’s just a kid at heart,” Ginny told her friend Janice one evening as they finished their paperwork in preparation for the next shift._

_“I’m going to miss him,” Janice said, “He brings so much happiness when he comes down.”_

_Ginny agreed._

_Another month went by and Fred became a permanent resident of the hospital. Ginny went up to visit him as often as she could. She spent her breaks and lunchtimes in his room, listening to their favourite music and reminiscing about their childhoods. These times were very special to her, and while each visit felt a little bittersweet, she was happy that her presence was making the last days of Fred’s life a bit less lonely._

_Then, one night after she’d gone to bed, the hospital called, asking her to contact her family: Fred’s organs had suddenly begun to shut down, the end was near. She made her calls, finding everyone but Ron whose voicemail took her call, then jumped in her car and headed for the hospital. Her parents were in the room when she arrived. They embraced, then let her approach Fred. She sat, holding his hand, until everyone turned up. Fred barely knew they were with him. His family began its vigil._

_Ron finally showed up about three in the morning, dressed in a caped costume that resembled one of the characters in his video games. He was drunk and loudly called Fred’s name as he approached the bed. Fred didn’t respond. Another patient called for Ron to be quiet._

_“Why’s he ‘norin’ me?” he slurred. “I came ‘cause she—” he pointed at Ginny, “—tol’ me to. Why’dja call me? I was havin’ fun toastin’ his health an’ you ruined my fun.”_

_Bill walked over and took hold of Ron’s arm. “Ron, you need to come with me,” he said firmly. “You need to be quiet because other people are trying to sleep. Let’s go see if we can find some coffee.”_

_Ron didn’t seem to be finished. “I don’ wan’ coffee. I wan’ Fred. Why’s he not talkin’ to me?” he nearly bellowed. “I wanna say g-bye. Lemme say g-bye.” He jerked out of Bill’s grasp and staggered over to the bed again. He leaned down, planted a sloppy kiss on Fred’s forehead and stood for a moment as if expecting his brother to react. When Fred didn’t, Ron turned to Ginny. “You did somethin’ to ‘im, Ginny. He’s not wakin’ up and I’m gonna find out why. I bet you poisoned our brother!”_

_Bill grabbed Ron and slapped a hand over his mouth, silencing him a little too late. “That’s quite enough. You’re coming with me.” The two left the ward with Ron protesting that he had the right to be with his brother._

Ginny stopped her story. “I need some more tea,” she said, sliding off Harry’s lap.

She came back a few minutes later with a fresh pot in one hand and a handkerchief in the other. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears.

“Have you figured out why Ron was acting the way he was?” Harry asked, holding out both cups.

Ginny stuffed the handkerchief in her pocket, then poured the tea. “It took me a long time, but I finally figured it out. He’s jealous of the time I spent with Fred both before and after he got sick,” she told him, sitting at the opposite end of the sofa and curling her legs under herself.

Harry turned towards her so he could see her better.

“When we were teenagers and the twins were finally in possession of their driving licenses,” Ginny continued, “they offered to take us anywhere we wanted to go within reason, as long as we had permission from Mum or Dad to go. They took turns driving both of us at first; Fred would drive on the first and third Saturdays, George, the second and fourth and Ron and I would take up the back seat no matter who was driving. When Fred was driving, I could always count on him taking us to a library or a matinee at a theatre or a talk at one of the London museums. Ron hated going places like that, but he went anyway because he wanted to get off the farm. With George, it was always action films or video game conventions, mostly not my cup of tea. After a while, Ron and George no longer wanted to go with Fred and me because the things we liked to do weren’t exciting enough, so we stayed home most of the time when George had the car. On those Saturdays, I could always count on Fred helping me with my homework or later, revising for my exams. Even after I entered university, Fred would sometimes show up at my dormitory with tickets to this or that. Ron never understood why Fred and I got along so well, but it boils down to common interests and similar senses of humour. 

“You’d think that being twins, Fred and George would have been nearly identical. Not a chance. They were different enough that they complemented each other, which brought a lot of creativity to their business and how they interacted with people.”

“But why is Ron so hurtful still?” Harry asked.

Ginny sipped her tea thoughtfully, then said, “He’s still jealous. I spent a lot of time with Fred during his last month in hospital. At the end, when he was too sick to speak, I brought books we both loved and read to him. It took his mind off his pain for a while.

“At the time, Ron was looking for the perfect coding job with several big companies. He also was involved in cosplay, dressing up and going to conventions all over the country. He finally landed his dream job two days before Fred died and went to a convention in Bristol to celebrate. That’s why he was dressed up when he arrived at the hospital,” she explained. 

“How did your brother get to the hospital if he was so drunk?” Harry asked.

“A more sober friend drove him down from Bristol. The trip only takes an hour and a half if you know what you’re doing, but their adventure took nearly three hours because of wrong turnings, so you know the friend wasn’t much better off than Ron. Anyway, Ron hadn’t brought any other clothes with him, he hadn’t even checked out of his hotel room, so as soon as Bill sobered Ron up a little, I volunteered to drive him back to Bristol to get his things.”

“Did you miss Fred’s passing to do this for Ron?” Harry asked.

Ginny shook her head. “Fred passed while Bill and Ron were gone, thank goodness. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have left Fred’s side. The trip to Bristol was awful, mostly because Ron wouldn’t shut up about how he thought I’d done something to Fred and because I still had to tell the family about the history of Fred’s illness. If there ever was a time that a magic spell for silencing someone was real, I would have used it on my brother,” she said bitterly.

It was all Harry could do to keep a straight face. Indeed, a Silencing Spell would have been exactly what Ginny had needed that night. “What happened after Fred died?” he asked instead.

“There’s not much more to tell,” she said. “It was a bad time for all of us. When we reached the farm a little after ten that morning, Dad gathered the family in the living room for the reading of Fred’s Will and I told them what I knew about his illness. That set Ron off again…”

 _“You’re a witch, that’s what you are!” Ron yelled. “Not only did you poison Fred, you bewitched him into not telling us he was sick for_ three _years! That’s not fair!”_

_“Nothing’s fair when it comes to cancer, Ron,” Ginny said quietly. “It’s an awful disease that takes what it wants with no thought to the consequences for its victim’s family. I did nothing but comfort Fred during his last days. I told you that in the car.”_

_“…And then tricked him into giving him a larger share of his estate than he gave the rest of us!”_

_Ginny was out of her chair in an instant. Glaring at Ron, she seethed, “Oh, that’s rich! You’re one selfish bastard, that’s what you are! Fred willed me the sum he did because I was the one who was there for him every single day, not just when I could fit a visit into my schedule! He was thanking me for the time we spent together!”_

_“You admit it!” Ron crowed jubilantly. “Bill, Charlie, George, Percy! You heard what she just said, she conned Fred into giving her more money! I bet she messed with his meds, too.”_

_“How dare you!” Ginny cried, tears spilling down her face. “How dare you question my loyalty to Fred and his only way to tell me how grateful he was.”_

_At this point, their father intervened. “Ron, apologize to your sister. You are still too inebriated to know what you’re saying. Either have Bill or Charlie take you back to your flat or go up to your old room and sleep it off. You are being unfair to Ginny,” he said._

_Ron pushed himself out of his chair and headed for the stairs. As he passed Ginny, he whispered, “You’re guilty as charged.”_

_As soon as he was out of the room, their father turned to Ginny, “Your brothers and I will see that Ron behaves himself. I’m sorry for what he’s said to you. Will you be all right?”_

_She nodded. “Yeah, I will. Would it be all right with you and Mum if I went back to my flat? I need to get some sleep,” she said, knowing that removing herself completely from the scene would calm her down faster than if she stayed._

_Her father hugged her. “Come back when you’re rested, Ginny. The family needs to talk about the arrangements for Fred’s funeral,” he said._

_“I just need a couple of hours, Dad. I’ll be back soon,” she said, and gathering up her bag and keys, left the house via the front door so she wouldn’t have to face her remaining brothers._

_Ron was sober for Fred’s funeral only because Bill, Charlie and Percy watched him like hawks. They also acted as a buffer between him and Ginny, because Ron kept going on and on about his sister tampering with Fred’s meds at the wake afterwards. More than once she heard one or the other hiss at him, “Keep your trap shut, Ron. Ginny’s co-workers are here!”_

_“Why should I?” Ron asked stubbornly. “Does she have something to hide?”_

_“I do not, Ronald,” she finally snapped back. “You’re making a lot of people who know a whole lot more about cancer than you do uncomfortable. Just—just leave me alone.”_

_Bill finally convinced Ron that he was making a spectacle of himself and Ron left the wake early. Their mother wasn’t happy about his behaviour, but as her father firmly shut the door on their youngest son, they both looked relieved. They all knew the problem wasn’t solved, but at least their guests didn’t have to witness what had been a horrible row brewing._

_Two days later, when Ginny was sitting at the nurse’s station monitoring the rooms and writing reports, her supervisor, Isabell, came to sit next to her._

_“Ginny,” she began without preamble, “I’m concerned about the accusations some of the patients in your brother’s ward heard the night he died. They’re saying that one of your brothers is accusing you of tampering with your brother’s meds and have reported what they heard to Administration.”_

_Ginny’s heart sank. She had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but with what Ron had been saying at the wake, she wasn’t surprised. “Will there be an investigation?” she asked._

_“I’m afraid so. These are serious charges, ones that, if they are found to be true, will cause you to lose your license,” Isabell said._

_“They won’t be because all I did with Fred was sit with him. All the nurses on the oncology floor witnessed my time with Fred. If they’re asked to testify, I hope they will be truthful. Ron never came to visit, so he doesn’t know how sick Fred was at the end.” She paused as another thought came to her. “Would it… would it be a good idea for me to start looking for another job?” she asked._

_“Not just yet. I’ve not been asked to put you on probation or leave without pay yet, but it might be a good idea to learn what’s out there,” sighed Isabell. “I’m sure the gossip mill is turning its cogs as we speak. You’re a good nurse, Ginny, and I hope I don’t lose you.”_

_Ginny looked at the report she’d been writing, not seeing any of the words. “Me, too, but if I must, I’ll leave. It would be better for the hospital if the patients think they can’t trust me,” she said sadly. Looking up, she continued, “Would you give me a letter of reference, please?”_

_Isabell patted Ginny’s arm. “You’ll have that letter by Friday,” she said, standing up._

_One of the patients called for a nurse and they both left the station as another nurse took Ginny’s place at the monitors._

Harry seemed upset as she ended this part of her story. “That’s so incredibly unfair!” he exclaimed. “He had no right to do that to you.”

Ginny sighed. “What’s done is done. The administrators held an inquiry that took forever and made my life miserable in the process. In the end, I was exonerated of all charges. As soon as I could, I moved here to London and cut all ties with my family because by the end, even Bill and Charlie had doubts that I was completely innocent.”

“Was it hard to get a job here?” Harry asked.

“Surprisingly, no. I did have some incredibly uncomfortable interviews, but in the end, two hospitals decided they wanted me and I took the job at the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital,” she said. 

“So why were you upset when Ron called you this morning?” Harry asked.

“Ron thinks that because he knows best, he can order me around. He’s the family’s self-appointed watch dog who thinks that because Mum is still in mourning that he has to make up things to try to coerce me into coming back to the farm. He said some rather awful things this morning and I just couldn’t take it any longer,” she admitted.

“Oh, Ginny, I’m so sorry,” Harry said, scooting closer and taking her hand in his. “Do you think Ron will ever see that Fred knew you loved him enough to make his last days better?”

Ginny shook her head. “He’s too stubborn. I’d have to hit him over the head with a blunt object to knock some sense into him. He’s always been a bit jealous of all his siblings, mostly because we have successful careers, important contacts and wealth of our own making. Even as kids, Ron was at loose ends most of the time, finding acceptance only in the video game community. To tell the truth, I don’t think he’s doing well at that perfect job he goes to each day, but who am I to speculate about what goes on in my brother’s life?”

Harry sat silently for a few minutes. Then, he said, “Thank you for telling me. I hope talking about it has helped you feel better.”

The look Ginny gave him warmed his heart as she said, “Harry you’re just what I needed this morning. Thank you.”

“Not at all, Ginny. I’m glad I came by when I did,” he said, meaning every word.

*****

Meanwhile, Hermione Apparated to a small cottage on the outskirts of the village of Bolsover, an elated smile on her face. The Hogwarts matron looked expectantly at her as she entered the cottage.

“Well?” she asked excitedly.

“It’s a woman!” Hermione crowed. “Harry’s seeing someone, and might be falling for her. He called her ‘luv!’”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Madam Pomfrey exclaimed. “That explains so much. Riddle’s spell was designed to make Harry miserable, and if he’s found someone who brings love back into his life, the stronger his feelings for this woman, the healthier he will become. Oh, I’m so relieved!”

Hermione scowled. “There’s one hitch. I think she’s a Muggle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:   
> I've decided to dedicate this chapter to my husband, a victim of brain cancer. Like Fred Weasley's cancer, the symptoms came on gradually, with my husband hiding how he felt until it was absolutely necessary that he have surgery. My husband is a brave man and is enduring chemotherapy and radiation like a champ. I am thankful to his doctors and nurses for the support and encouragement they give us at each visit. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that once his treatment is over, he will have many more years ahead of him. 
> 
> A big thank you as always to Melindaleo, Mutt n Feathers, Cackling Stump and Brennus for the time they took to help me make this chapter the best it can be. They're all wonderful writers, so go check out their pages.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry talks about growing up on Privet Drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many of you have commented on how nice it was to find out more about Ginny's backstory in the last chapter. Now you'll get a glimpse of Harry's. Thanks to those who have nominated this story for the Silver Trinkets. There have been many wonderful stories nominated this time around and I am honored that my readers have included my story amongst their number.
> 
> As always, many thanks go to my editors, Melindaleo, Cackling Stump, and Mutt n Feathers. The chapter would be a lot rougher without their input.

“Let’s hire some bicycles and take a ride around Hyde Park,” Ginny suggested one Saturday morning in mid-July.

Harry, who had been sipping his tea, coughed and sprayed tea over the newspaper he’d been reading. “Er, Ginny, I don’t know how to ride a bicycle,” he admitted as he felt his face heating up. He was certain that his face was the colour of a beetroot and tried to stare a hole in the wet paper.

“I’ll teach you, then,” Ginny said breezily. She pointed across the street to the low brick wall that separated the house opposite from the walkway. “Harry, if you can straddle that wall and not fall over, you can ride a bike. Besides, it’s fun to ride fast, once you get the hang of it, and I think you’re the sort of bloke who thrives on speed.”

While this wasn’t an out-and-out dare, Harry understood the challenge for what it was. “All right, let’s go,” he said, putting down the newspaper. “How do we get to Hyde Park?”

They took the Underground and emerged in front of a bicycle rental shop. On the way, they had decided they’d each hire their own bicycle, rather than have one or the other foot the entire bill. Ginny strode up to the cashier and pointed to the sort of bicycle she wanted, conducting the transaction in a subtly louder voice than necessary so that Harry could hear what she said. Ten minutes later, they were pushing their bikes down one of the many footpaths that bisected the park. When they reached a rather deserted area with a straight path, Ginny straddled her bicycle.

“All right, Harry, up you get,” she said. “Watch me.” 

She was up on the seat with her feet on the pedals before Harry had time to blink, riding in slow circles around him. Harry looked at his bike. There was a long crossbar that stretched between the seat and the handlebar post that would preclude him from just stepping across the frame to get on the bike. He wondered if lifting his leg that high would hurt his abdomen. There was only one way to find out.

The motion was second nature to him when he realized that climbing on the bike was just like mounting his Firebolt. The only difference, it seemed, between the bike and the broom was how to get it going: with the broom his feet pushed upward; with the bike, the motion was forward.

Ginny had been watching him and as soon as he began rolling, she called, “Follow me!” and quickened her pace.

Balancing on the bike felt just as natural as riding the broom and soon Harry passed Ginny, who let out a whoop of joy and raced to catch up with him.

“Harry, are you sure you’ve never ridden a bicycle before?” she asked.

“Positive. I’ll tell you why later,” he said, and surged forward around a curve to take another path.

They rode for over an hour, all over the park. While not as fast as his Firebolt, the speed generated through his exertions thrilled him just as much, especially when he realized that he could go this fast without using magic. That was a freeing thought in itself.

Finally, Ginny called to him, “Let’s get some lunch. All this riding has made me hungry!”

“Where’s a good place to get sandwiches?” Harry asked. “If you know a good place, lead the way.”

She did just that, coming to a stop in front of a little sandwich shop situated on the bank of the Serpentine, the large lake in the middle of the park. They purchased sandwiches, crisps and fizzy drinks and took them to a bench that looked out over the water. Harry took off his shoes and socks and wiggled his toes happily as he ate.

“Harry, how did you get that scar?” Ginny asked, pointing to the jagged red line that circled his left ankle. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“You’ll be glad you haven’t,” Harry told her ruefully, preparing to tell her the lie he’d told Hermione, “I stepped in an animal trap while on patrol. I’m glad I was wearing boots.” In reality, he’d spent two days in March of 2002, hoisted by his ankle high in a tree. The rope had been cursed to eat through the toughest dragon hide and he’d almost lost the foot before he could free himself. Hermione hadn’t been with him and with Death Eaters on every floor of St Mungo’s, Harry had healed himself as best he could, using the last of his Dittany to do so. The result was a limp that lasted for months.

“You could have lost your foot!” Ginny exclaimed. “Who would put out such traps?”

“Someone who wants to catch an awfully big critter,” Harry remarked, using an American word he’d picked up in a Mark Twain novel he’d read recently.

They ate in silence for a while, watching the intrepid souls paddling around the lake in paddle boats and throwing their sandwich crusts to the swans and geese that ventured across the gravel path.

Ginny finished her sandwich and said quietly, “You promised you’d tell me why you never learned to ride a bicycle.”

Harry sighed. “I did, didn’t I,” he said. He took a deep breath before starting. “I told you that first morning that I grew up at my aunt and uncle’s house and that it wasn’t a very good time in my life.” He sighed and focused on the white swan currently being fed by a tiny girl in a pink dress a few yards away. “They gave my cousin, Dudley, everything he asked for and I was lucky to get the broken leftovers. Between the ages of five and eleven, Dudley was given five bicycles, eight televisions, four computers and countless other things every boy should have. He broke everything he was ever given when he didn’t get his way or he couldn’t figure out how it worked within four minutes of turning it on. Even if he liked something, if I showed any interest in it, Dudley would break it so I couldn’t use it and then blame me for what had happened to it. 

“In the case of the bicycles, they always had blown-out tyres because Dudley weighed four times as much as any other kid in the neighbourhood. When that happened, Dudley would push the bike in front of a passing car or bash it with my uncle’s big hammers until it broke. His solution to everything that made him feel bad was to break it.”

“And I suppose the reason he broke those bicycles was to keep you from learning to ride?” Ginny asked, sounding outraged.

Harry chuckled. “That’s the idea,” he said wryly.

“I don’t suppose your aunt and uncle ever gave you anything of your own,” she said, her eyes narrowing and her tone tense.

“Not one thing except a daily list of chores and a standing order to have breakfast on the table by half seven so my uncle could get to work on time.” The conversation was becoming a bit uncomfortable, but Harry realized that if he knew all the sordid details of Ginny’s family discord, he needed to share the uncomfortable parts of growing up with the Dursleys with her.

“Is that why you’re so good in the kitchen?” she asked, grinning. “Every time we’ve cooked together you prep everything so quickly and precisely all I have to do is throw it in the pan. I hope you know how much I appreciate having my own sous-chef.”

“I don’t think my aunt would see it that way. Cooking was more of her way to keep me busy and where she could see me in the mornings,” Harry said. “If truth be told, I think my aunt hated having to cook and saw me as a live-in house— er, cook so she didn’t have to do much work in the kitchen.”

Ginny was quiet for a while. Then, she said, “If you look at it this way, your relatives have given you a skill that will keep you from starving while you live alone. Most guys our age live off takeaway and microwavable meals because they never learned to cook.”

Harry smiled at that. “I’ve never thought of it in that way. I see you look for the silver lining in every cloud,” he said, glancing over at her. He couldn’t help adding bitterly, “Can you help figure out what good comes from being made to work in the garden, wash the car, and mow the lawn from the age of five while being fed just enough to keep the authorities from questioning my relatives?” Blushing at what had slipped out, Harry added, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Ginny’s eyes went wide. “They… they did that to you?” she whispered. “Oh, Harry. Have you ever found out why?”

“Yeah, they didn’t like me.” He struggled valiantly to suppress the inner loathing of both himself and his relatives. “My parents were murdered when I was a toddler, and they were basically forced to take me in. They resented my presence and how I upset what they say as the ‘perfect family’.”

Ginny’s hand reached for his and squeezed. The fact that she didn’t say anything helped him to compose himself and, surprisingly, want to tell her more of how he grew up, if she asked.

Apparently, she did want to know more. “Were they… were they abusive in other ways?”

Again, Harry stared out over the lake, seeing only the memories that surfaced in his mind. “It was easy to hit me when I was small, easy to yell at me and throw me into the cupboard under the stairs as punishment for perceived slights, for being better than Dudley at things, easy for my cousin to blame me for things that he did so I’d get punished,” he said woodenly. “When my aunt enrolled us in school, Dudley became a bully, mostly because that’s what he’d seen his dad do to me and what some of the older boys did to him. It didn’t take long for every child on the playground to fear him and his group of hangers-on. He made sure that everyone knew he hated me and that he’d torment anyone who dared to befriend me.”

“That must have been incredibly lonely,” murmured Ginny.

“It was,” Harry admitted. “But I survived because I knew we would go to different schools when we turned eleven. In the meantime, I instinctually learned to beat Dudley’s game of ‘Harry Hunting.’” He used hand gestures to simulate inverted commas around the name of Dudley’s game. “I learned evasion tactics like memorizing what streets made the best shortcuts home, or how to run as fast as I could, or even travel from one tree to another through several back gardens to avoid getting trapped by Dudley. Believe me, it’s no fun to be slugged in the stomach or stuffed face first in someone’s garbage bin and have the lid banged shut on my feet.” This earned him another squeeze from Ginny. 

“Did you ever fight back?” she asked.

“Only once or twice, years and years apart, and both instances were a mistake. The first time I tried fighting back, I ended up in hospital with a broken arm because Dudley picked me up and threw me down the stairs. My aunt only took me to get it seen to because I couldn’t raise my arm high enough to flip the morning bacon, it hurt so much to move it. Several years later, when I had made a friend at school, Dudley tried to hurt her and I wasn’t having any of it. Dudley was alone at the time, so I thought the fight would be a little more even. My only mistake was underestimating the power of someone who weighed three times what I did. Dudley let me swing at him several times before taking a step forward and knocking me senseless with an uppercut. I came to in the matron’s office with my aunt yelling at me for sleeping in school.” Harry stopped there because the rest of the story was just too painful. He’d earned a long isolation in his cupboard and a new respect for close combat.

“Was Dudley always the size of a rhino?” Ginny asked.

“Pretty much,” Harry said and left it at that.

“So, what happened when you two turned eleven? You said something about school?”

“Yeah, I did. Dudley was admitted to my uncle’s old boarding school, Smeltings, and I went to Stonewall High. However, everyone in the neighbourhood was told that I was being sent St Brutus’s Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys,” Harry said, glancing at Ginny to see how she’d react. “My uncle wanted to make sure everyone stayed away from me with Dudley away at school.”

Ginny burst out laughing. “Are you kidding?” she asked. “Is there such a school?” When Harry nodded, she sobered quickly. “Did they really send you there?”

“They wanted to, but Stonewall’s counsellor wouldn’t let them. I had no criminal record, I wasn’t a threat to myself or others—contrary to what my uncle said—I had passing marks from my previous school and it was their word against all this evidence that kept me out of St Brutus’s.”

“Well, that’s a relief. So how did your uncle perpetuate the lie?”

“There’s a minibus that picks up students in the morning to take them to St. Brutus’s and brings them back to Stonewall at the end of the day. My uncle gave the adults on our street the impression that I boarded that minibus every morning. It was enough to keep the other children on our street from talking to me.”

Ginny scowled. “Right. So unfair!” Then she asked, “With Dudley going to the other school, did you ever make friends?”

Harry smiled for the first time in a long while, thinking of that first ride on the Hogwarts Express. “I did, the very first day of school.”

Ginny leaned forward towards him. “Tell me…” she prompted.

“I’ll never forget it,” Harry said. “All the other children were sitting with their friends and I had taken a seat at the back of the classroom. Just as the bell rang, a girl with bushy brown hair came huffing and puffing into the room. The only vacant seat was next to me and she boldly walked up to me and asked if the seat was taken. As soon as I answered that it was not, she sat down and the other kids moved their desks as far away from us as practical. Hermione and I have been friends ever since.”

“I’m glad,” Ginny said quietly. Then, she asked, “Did you ever make any friends who were boys?”

Harry grinned. “I made two really good friends that first year. Seamus came to my school from Ireland when his dad was transferred to his company’s Surrey office the second month of school. Neville joined my class at the end of the winter term. His grandmother had determined that he needed more social interaction than home schooling could provide. That was really good for me because I now had three very good friends who have stuck by me since we first met.”

“It sounds like separating you and Dudley was the best thing your aunt and uncle did for you,” Ginny commented.

“It was while Dudley was away at school. When he came home for the summer, though, everything went back to how it was,” Harry said bitterly.

Ginny frowned and growled softly, but didn’t say anything.

They were silent for a very long time. Then, Ginny asked, “Have you, have you ever thought about forgiving your relatives for what they did to you?”

Harry was shocked. “For–forgive my relatives? Why?”

“Because forgiveness is part of the healing process,” she said. “Because in order to have full health, one needs to let go of the bad feelings associated with stress and loathing. Health improves when the focus is on moving forward, rather than looking back and thinking about the shoulda, woulda, coulda beens, the things that tie your gut in knots. Does that make sense?”

Harry sighed and nodded, not trusting himself to say anything at the moment.

Looking out at the lake, Ginny continued, “I’m struggling with the concept because of what Ron did to me and what he made the rest of my family believe. For the last six months, I’ve wanted to yell and scream at him that he ruined my reputation at the hospital, wanted him to feel bad for what he said that night and at the wake. I want him to stop being jealous of the time I spent with Fred because I’m not jealous of the time he spends with George.”

She sighed. “Harry, I’m beginning to think that it’s better to just let the past be the past and move on with my life. I have a great job, friends at work, a nice flat and… you. I like the life I’ve started to build for myself and, the more I think about it, the less important making Ron see what he did to me was wrong is. I don’t think he’ll ever acknowledge that he should have kept his mouth shut in the first place or even apologized to me, but there’s something inside me that keeps saying that Ron is my brother, part of my family, and if my family is to move on, we can’t keep holding grudges.”

“So, you think that I’m carrying around anger and resentment?” Harry asked, seething a bit. “You bet I am! For years I watched my aunt and uncle shower Dudley with everything he ever wanted and then some, while I got nothing! All I wanted as a kid was for my aunt to put my school photo on the mantle or my uncle to give me a bedroom instead of making me sleep in the cupboard under the stairs. Instead, I was given chores, I was hit, I was yelled at. How can I _not_ be resentful and lonely even after all this time?” Harry looked away as his voice cracked on that last word. 

He felt Ginny scoot closer to him and take his hand in hers. “Harry, did you want your aunt and uncle to love you?” she asked tentatively, not sure if he was ready for such an introspective question.

He paused, obviously thinking intensely before he answered. “Yes,” he admitted as his eyes began to burn. He covered his eyes with his free hand. His right eye leaked and he angrily swiped at the moisture. “Every damn day I lived there. They didn’t have to coo it at me like they did Dudley. All I wanted was a gentle pat on the back or some other sign that I was wanted.”

Ginny let go of his hand and Harry felt her arm come around his shoulders, turning him towards her. That was all he needed. It suddenly felt right to bury his head in her shoulder and let out all the pain he’d suffered over the years. He didn’t care that they were sitting on a park bench. What was important was the arms around him and the idea that if he let go of the hurt, he might be a little bit more whole.

The storm passed and Harry finally sat up. “Thanks, I needed that more than even I knew,” he said while staring at the rather large wet patch on her shoulder. “I’m sorry for drowning you.”

“No harm done, Harry,” she said, caressing his cheek.

“All these years,” he began, staring at his hands in his lap, “I have wanted my aunt and uncle to burn in Hell for what they did to me, especially my uncle because he thought what he was doing was justified. I was different from them and he thought he could beat me into submission. After I left for good, I couldn’t get it out of my head that I wanted him to acknowledge what he did to me was wrong. I wrote letters, sent emails, even went to his workplace — he had me thrown out of his office — to try to get him to admit his guilt, but he won’t, and my aunt’s no better.” He paused, realizing that there had been a glimmer of hope all those years ago that he hadn’t acknowledged. “Ginny, I think maybe Dudley is the one I can forgive first,” he said in amazement.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because before I left, he tried to be nice to me for the very first time and told his dad that he didn’t understand why I wasn’t going with them to their new house,” Harry said.

“How did you feel about that?”

“Shocked, mostly. It was the closest thing to saying he was going to miss me that ever occurred between us.”

“Have you had any contact with Dudley since?”

“None. I joined the army and had no further contact with him or his parents. I even put down Hermione’s family as my next-of-kin. I thought that if I buried the hatchet it all would go away, but it hasn’t and I’ve spent many sleepless nights figuring out what my revenge would be.”

“What do you want to happen now?”

Harry considered the question before he answered. “I think maybe you’re right. I don’t want to feel so tied up in knots all the time. It’s certainly possible that my resentment is tied in with my other health problems and that if I just let go a tiny bit, my health will improve even more than it has over the last month. It’s worth a try, at least.”

Ginny smiled. “I think you’re also learning to love yourself, Harry. I think you like who you’re becoming, just as I am. The past will always be part of us, but we don’t need to let it be our present as well. Maybe we can work on becoming whole together.”

“So, what will be your first step?” Harry asked, curiously.

“I think I’ll take a day and go see my mother. She’s still grieving and maybe talking to her without my brothers present will help us both,” she said. “What about you?”

“I’m vacillating between a letter or a phone call to Dudley, since he’s probably the easiest one for me to approach. Maybe time has mellowed him a bit; at least I can hope,” Harry decided. 

He looked at his watch. “It’s late, but I think we have time for one tour of the Serpentine before we need to get the bikes back. Coming with me?”

Ginny grinned. “Of course. Let’s go!”

And feeling lighter than he had that morning, Harry mounted his bike and followed Ginny. Their day together ended with a cup of tea and a kiss at her door before he left at the end of the evening.

*

Harry thought about what Ginny had said about trying to forgive the Dursleys on his walk home. He knew he wasn’t ready to forgive Petunia and Vernon for the way they’d treated him as a child, but the more he thought about it, maybe he was ready to forgive Dudley. After all, didn’t young children mimic their parents until they were old enough to start thinking for themselves? Dudley, it seemed, had taken after his father, bullying anyone whom he thought inferior and an easy target, especially Harry. Petunia’s sneering attitude towards her nephew hadn’t helped, but at least she’d left him alone most of the time as he grew older. 

What still amazed Harry was the change in his cousin’s attitude towards him at the end of his stay at Privet Drive. Harry had learned that Dudley hadn’t thought him a “waste of space” when they had parted in 1997, a revelation that had surprised him at the time. It was the first indication that Dudley was beginning to think for himself and possibly reject his parents’ ideas about his cousin. He knew that if he made contact with Dudley, they most likely would never be best mates, but maybe they could keep up with each other’s news at Christmas. After all, they were family…

Harry hung his jacket on the coat tree he’d placed to the left of the front door after Kreacher had died and proceeded up the stairs to the library where he kept his desk. He opened the old rolltop and extracted a piece of Muggle writing paper and a Biro, absently wondering what he would say to his cousin. He finally set pen to paper and the words began to flow.

Hey Dudley,

It’s been a long time since we last saw each other on the evening of our departure from Privet Drive…


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny and Harry confront their pasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another week, another chapter, another adventure in the lives of Harry and Ginny. They're learning to forgive and move on, and acknowledge the events that have shaped their lives.
> 
> Many thanks to my editors. Without them, this story would be rather boring!

Chapter 6  
Ginny quietly shut her car door and walked around the house to the kitchen door. She wanted this visit to be a surprise and she had chosen a time of day when her dad would be out in the fields and her brothers all at work, not that any of them lived with their parents any more. This meant that she’d have a couple of hours with her mother all to herself.

She paused at the bottom of the steps leading to the kitchen door and turned to look out over the back garden to the fields beyond. The wheat crop looked like it was well on its way and she noted that her dad had planted less of it than in previous years because several of the surrounding fields that she knew he’d planted in previous years were dotted with the chestnut-coloured forms of her dad’s favourite milk cow, the Milking Devon. Automatically, she began counting cows. In previous years, his herd had been about thirty-six head, but today she counted closer to sixty. Then, she spotted something she’d never seen on the farm before: it was a herd of white, tan, brown and even black animals that looked like long-necked sheep from this distance. Ginny had no idea what they were, but there were about twenty of them in the field close to the barn. Obviously, her parents were branching out in their farming of livestock.

She turned back to the house, determined to ask her mother what these new animals were.

“Mum, are you busy?” Ginny called as she walked into the empty kitchen.

There was a soft thump and then she was engulfed in a hug so fierce she could hardly breathe. Her mother held her and for the second time in four days, Ginny felt her shoulder being soaked with tears.

“Ginny, oh, my darling, you’re home!” her mother exclaimed a few minutes later. “It’s so good to see you!”

“It’s good to see you, too, Mum,” she said, stepping back and looking towards the stairs. The pile of laundry her mum had been carrying lay scattered on the floor. Walking over to it, she began gathering it into a neater pile. “Do you need help with the laundry?”

Taking the pile from her daughter, her mother said, “Give me two minutes to get this in the washer and we can have a nice cuppa while it washes.”

“All right, I’ll go turn on the kettle,” Ginny said as her mum bustled into the scullery. 

“What have you been up to?” her mum asked a few minutes later.

“Working, mostly,” Ginny answered. “I think I told you I got a job at the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital in London. The work is so different from what I did here in Ottery; I’m really enjoying it.”

“Have you met anyone?” her mum asked as she passed Ginny a plate of ginger biscuits.

Ginny resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she took a biscuit and nibbled on it as she considered her answer. “I’ve made a few friends at work,” she said, trying to avoid telling her mother about Harry. All her life her mum had had a sixth sense when it came to Ginny and her relationships with boys. She’d been the same way with Bill, Percy and the twins.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” hinted her mum.

“No, I don’t. Explain, please.” 

“Are there any handsome doctors asking you out? You’re a very attractive woman, you know, and anyone would be lucky to have you as their special someone.”

“Mum! When would I have time? All the doctors I know are twenty years older than I am, they have grey hair! And they’re all married! Besides, I’ve only been in London for eight months. When would I have time to meet someone?”

“Ginny, I haven’t seen you in months, but I know there’s someone special in your life. You have that glow about you…”

“What glow?”

“The one that tells me you spend your days off with a young man, one who thinks the world of you.”

“You’ve been wrong about that glow before, Mum,” Ginny said, thinking of an ex-boyfriend named Michael. Her mother had been certain that Michael was the one, but a week later, the two had broken up.

“Only the once. Now please stop stalling and tell me about your friend,” her mother said, changing tactics.

Ginny sighed and gave in to her mother’s nagging. “He’s a good friend. He’s recovering from being injured in a fire fight somewhere. We met because he started walking along my street twice a day a couple of months ago and we’d pass the time of day sometimes. He asked me out and now we spend a lot of time together,” she said, hoping to satisfy her mother’s curiosity.

“Does he have a name?” her mother asked.

“Yes, it’s Harry,” Ginny admitted, knowing that if she said any more, her mother would get on the internet and look up all the Harry Potters listed to see if he owned property and how much it was worth. She’d once told Ginny that being a land owner indicated whether or not a man would be a good provider.

Her mother reached across the table and patted Ginny’s hand. “I’m glad you have a friend, Ginny. I was so worried when you left; you were so sad and broken. We all were.”

“Are you doing any better, Mum?”

“I am. The good days now outnumber the bad days, but sometimes I just have to give in to the grief. It’s very hard to lose a child, even if that child is grown and gone from home.” Her mum glanced up at the kitchen mantle where a parade of photographs marched across the bricks. Fred’s photo was in the middle. A melancholy expression ghosted over her mother’s face.

“That’s good to hear. Er, when I came in, I noticed there were some new animals out to pasture,” Ginny said, stalling the inevitable. She wanted the good feelings and pleasant subjects to last a bit longer. They would give her something positive to think about on the drive back to London if she and her mother didn’t come to an understanding.

Her mother perked up right away. “Those are alpacas. They belong to the same animal family as camels and llamas and I’m raising them for their fleece, which is finer and softer than wool and makes such wonderful yarn!” She jumped up, bustled into the living room and came back holding two skeins of yarn, one black, one light brown.

“Feel this, Ginny. Isn’t it the softest thing you’ve ever felt?” she gushed.

Ginny squeezed the balls of yarn. They were incredibly soft. “Is this made from the animals you have out in the pasture?”

“Yes. We purchased an established herd from a farmer who was retiring just after you left. We had our first shearing in June and netted seventy kilos of fleece! We sent it to a local spinner who turned it into this yarn. I have so much of it that I’ve started selling it in the Ottery yarn shop and George set me up with a website to sell it on line. My business is small, but the neighbourhood knitting club really likes my yarn. For the first time in my life, I’m a business woman!” The giddy giggle that escaped her mother made Ginny smile.

They talked a little longer about the new business and the events her mother would be going to to sell her yarn before her mother asked pointedly, “Ginny, why did you really come home? Of all my children, you’ve always had a purpose to everything you do.”

Ginny filled her mug from the pot and stared at the knitted cosy that kept the teapot warm. “Mum, I need to talk about why I left,” she said quietly.

Her mother’s weathered hand reached across the table and captured Ginny’s. “I was hoping that was the case because I’ve thought we needed to talk as soon as you stormed out.”

“I’m glad we agree that talking this out is what we need. Being ostracized like that hurt me deeply, Mum. I never thought I’d be the family pariah for something I didn’t even do. What hurt the most, though, was that you and Dad stood back and watched as first Ron and then the rest of my brothers tore me apart. Why didn’t you two step in when they ganged up on me?”

Her mother sighed and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she said, “We have no excuse. We thought the argument would blow over like so many of your childhood squabbles did. Yes, Ron was making a nuisance of himself, but your father and I didn’t think his accusations would come to anything because he was inebriated when they were delivered. We should have known better. By the time we realized how serious the situation was, the hospital had scheduled the hearings and you weren’t speaking to us.”

“I understand that, Mum, but you two didn’t support me when I needed you most. You sided with Ron!” Ginny exclaimed. “I thought you were ashamed of me!”

“Oh, Ginny, we never meant for you to think that. You see, when the hospital brought the charges against you, we were torn up inside because we love you both. We asked our friends, the Diggorys, who dealt with a conflict between their two boys, and they recommended staying neutral, especially since you were both adults,” her mum explained.

Ginny stared into her mug. “I wish you and Dad told me about that. While it wouldn’t have made things any easier for me at work, at least I would have known why you weren’t doing anything to stop Ron from saying the things he said. It would have stopped me from wondering why you’d abandoned me and let Bill and Charlie try to make him stop. I could have used some time together with you just talking about how I felt,” she nearly whispered.

“Ginny, darling. I think you know that your dad and I couldn’t have controlled what Ron said any more than we could have stopped Fred dying. We knew all of you are adults, capable of handling difficult situations. Do you think it was easy for us to watch you suffer through the investigation alone?”

“I suppose not,” Ginny mumbled. She was quiet for a time, then she asked the question that had kept her up so often since Ron’s last phone call. “Mum, I moved away eight months ago. You look reasonably happy. Why is Ron still calling me at least once a week to tell me that you’re not coping with Fred’s death and that you’re ashamed of me?”

“He’s doing what?” The question came from the direction of the back door. Both Ginny and her mother looked up to see Bill standing in the doorway. His face was rather pink and his expression thunderous. “Why, that little…” He let the sentence dangle and Ginny provided her own word to fill in the blank: it wasn’t very complimentary.

Bill shut the door with care and strode over to the table. “I’m sorry, Ginny,” he began. “I didn’t know.” He hovered for a split second, then bent down and hugged Ginny. “It’s so good to see you.”

“What are you doing here, Bill?” their mother asked. “I thought you and Jeannine were taking the kids to the seaside today.”

“We are, but not until after lunch, so I stopped by to bring back the plumbing tools I borrowed from Dad last week. I didn’t want to keep them any longer than I needed them,” he explained.

“That’s kind of you,” their mother murmured.

Bill smiled vaguely while skewering Ginny with his best “big brother” stare. “Now tell me again what that git is doing,” he said evenly, even though eyes were flashing.

“At least once a week, sometimes twice, I get a call from Ron,” Ginny sighed wearily. “Sometimes he says something like ‘did you kill anyone this week’ or ‘does the hospital you work for know you killed your brother?’ This week his call was about Mum and the fact that she’s not coping with Fred’s death and that I need to come home to apologize for killing him. I blocked his number on my phone, so I have about a week before he discovers that he has to use someone else’s phone if he wants to bother me again.”

“I didn’t think he’d got that bad,” Bill said apologetically. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

Ginny shook her head. “Not just yet. Let me try talking him out of calling me again the next time he calls. I have a friend who thinks I should unblock the number, record the call and threaten to call the police. I can also get a new phone number if I need to,” she said. “I’m going to try that approach first.”

Bill sighed. “I’m really sorry he’s doing this, Ginny. You don’t deserve what Ron’s doing to you.” He sat down next to her and reached over to take her hand. “I’m also sorry that I let him persuade me that he was right. I’ll admit to being a bit jealous of the time you could spend with Fred because you worked at the hospital. I think all of us were, but Ron’s taken it to the extreme,” he said, looking straight at her. 

Ginny squeezed her brother’s fingers. “Thanks for saying that, Bill. I forgive you.”

“Forgive Bill for what?” asked a very familiar and welcome voice. “Is that Ginny’s car out in the drive?”

“Dad!” Ginny cried, jumping up and hurrying over to give him a hug.

“Ginny, it’s so good to see you!” he exclaimed. He released her and stepped back. “What are you forgiving Bill for?”

Ginny winked at Bill before she replied seriously, “For being a jealous git and believing the horrible things Ron said when Fred died.” 

Bill chuckled quietly at this.

“Why are you forgiving him now?” her father asked.

“I’ve had time to think about what happened, and he and Mum have answered some of the questions I had, so I’ve decided to look forward instead of backward now that I have more information,” she told him. 

“I was hoping you could eventually do that,” her father said.

Ginny sighed, then said, “Dad, I can’t forget what happened, too much time has passed and too much has been said, but I’ve decided to not let the negative feelings keep me away from my family. I realized that I rather like the life I’m building for myself now, and that I’d be much happier if I could come home every once in a while. It’s healthier to forgive and move on.”

Her father smiled, looking relieved. “I agree,” he said quietly. 

Her mother joined them. “I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive us for staying out of the argument and for staying away when you obviously needed us,” she said, sounding anxious. “I’m beginning to think we were given bad advice.”

Her father nodded his agreement.

“I do forgive you and Dad. I just wish…” Ginny stopped, pulled in a huge breath and let it out slowly to calm herself. “No. No more wishes. You did what you thought was best for our family and I need to stop wishing things were different. I feel better when I’m not wishing.”

Her mother hugged her. “Thank you, Ginny. Have you told Harry about our troubles?”

“Harry?” her father and brother chorused.

“Yes, Ginny has a significant other!” her mother crowed. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Maybe. What does he do for a living?” Bill asked, and Ginny could see the cogs in his banker’s brain whirring into high gear.

“Nothing, right now. He’s recovering from being seriously injured,” she replied. When Bill raised an eyebrow, she repeated the little she’d told her mother.

Bill stroked his chin. “Would you like me to look him up, Ginny? It might be nice to know a little more about the bloke,” he offered.

“Bill Weasley, you’ll do no such thing!” their mother exclaimed. “Leave your sister’s boyfriend alone!”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Ginny protested. “We’re just good friends.”

“Sure, he is,” Bill said with the same teasing tone their mother had used earlier. He then looked at his watch. “Well, if we’re going to the seaside, I’d better not keep Jeannine and the kids waiting any longer.” He stepped forward and hugged Ginny again. “It was good to see you, sis. If you want me to talk to Ron, I will.”

“Let me see if I can get him to stop on my own,” she pleaded as she hugged him back. “I promise that if I need a big brother, I’ll call you first.”

“Good,” Bill said. “I’ll see you all in a week.”

After he left, Ginny looked at her father. “Mum said you’ve branched out into raising alpacas. May I see them?”

Her father glanced down at Ginny’s shoes. “The pasture is rather muddy from the rain we had last night. You’re going to need boots,” he said.

“There’s a pair of my old Wellies under the coat rack,” her mother said. “Put those on. They should fit.”

“I’ll be right back,” Ginny said.

The three of them walked down to the pasture together a few minutes later. Ginny was enthralled by the small, woolly animals. Her father opened the pasture gate just enough to let them in. 

“Stand quietly and see what they do,” he advised. He strode into the barn and came back with a small container of what looked like food pellets.

Ginny did as her father asked and stood watching the nearest animals. It didn’t take much time for the closest one to notice and come over to her.

“Here, Ginny, give them some of this as a getting-to-know-you gesture,” her father said, offering her the pellets.

She took the container from him and scooped a small amount onto her palm and held it out to the alpaca. “I take it you’d rather have them eat this than my clothes?” she asked.

Her father chuckled. “They’re not goats,” he said. “They don’t have any upper front teeth. I just thought you’d have fun feeding them.”

As the alpaca sniffed her palm and then scooped up a few of the pellets, a few more came over to see what was going on. Soon, nearly the whole herd had come to see what the big deal was about and Ginny spent an enjoyable half hour amongst her parents’ newest addition to their farm.

“Will we see you again soon?” her mother asked several hours later as the three of them walked out to Ginny’s car.

“I’d like that, Mum,” she said happily. “I’ll text you my work schedule when I get it.”

“And will you bring Harry with you?” her father asked.

“Probably not,” she said. “While I’d love to introduce him to you, and he’s walking much better than he was when we first met, I don’t think he’s ready for the uneven ground of the pastures. He’s still walking with a cane and I wouldn’t want him to fall.”

Her mother reached up and caressed Ginny’s cheek. “I can tell Harry is a special man just by the way you speak of him. I’m glad you found him,” she said.

“Me, too, Mum,” Ginny whispered as she hugged her mum farewell and slipped into the driving seat. With a wave out her window, she headed down the drive towards the main road and London.

*

A Ministry owl brought Dudley’s reply. The envelope looked a bit worse for wear because not only had it gone through the Postal Service, it had undergone numerous spells and other tests at the Ministry mail screening office to make sure it was safe to send to Harry. The screening office had been set up following the end of the war to cope with the volume of mail he received each day from grateful witches and wizards. While Harry had been in the coma, all owls had been directed to the screening office rather than his person. Those letters that came the Muggle way were routed to a Muggle sorting office close to the Ministry and each day a screening office employee made the trip to collect Harry’s Muggle mail. The office was kept open even now because people continued to send him things: most packages and letters were harmless, but every once in a while, a crazed witch would send him a box of Chocolate Cauldrons laced with a love potion.

Harry now gave the owl a treat and a drink of water and sent it on its way, taking the letter up to the library. He fully expected Dudley to tell him to take a long walk off a short pier, so he was pleasantly surprised when the letter turned out to be as long as it was.

Hey Harry,

You’re right, it has been a long time since we’ve seen each other. It was good to hear from you.

I’m living in Newcastle now, having completed university in Nottingham just last year. I’m working as a physiotherapist at a sports medicine clinic and love working with the athletes, especially the boxers. 

I know it’s a long way from London to come up here for a beer, but I’d be willing to meet you at my favourite pub in Nottingham. I think we’d both be traveling about the same distance. If you don’t drive, I know there are trains that run regularly between London and Nottingham.

You asked about Mum and Dad. They’re doing OK. I’ll tell you more if we meet for a beer.

Dudley

So, Dudley did want to meet after all. Harry didn’t know how he felt about it, but was determined to speak to his cousin in person, so he wrote back inquiring about dates and times to meet. They finally settled on a Saturday meeting at the end of the month.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Ginny asked when he told her.

“No, because this is something I have to do on my own, but thanks for offering,” Harry said determinedly. “If you can talk with your parents and Bill alone, I can talk to my cousin by myself.”

“How long will you be gone?” she asked.

“I’ve decided on making it just a day trip. I’ll take a morning train up and come back on the last one of the day. I’m not sure how much we’ll have to say to each other, but if we have something in common other than animosity, we may just get along fine. I just have to remember that I’m putting the past behind me, not asking him for an apology,” Harry said with a sigh.

“You’re strong enough now to not let Dudley intimidate you,” Ginny told him. “You’ve been in combat for goodness’ sake!” 

“Yeah, I have. It’ll be just another day out on patrol.”

*

On the appointed day, Harry was up early and out the door in time to catch a nine o’clock train to Nottingham. He had stuffed his old school bag with a manuscript Hermione wanted him to edit, a paperback novel, a book of travel puzzle games, and several vials of potions he needed to take at noon and six o’clock. Harry had enlisted Hermione’s help in disguising and magically protecting the vials so they would pass a Muggle inspection, if necessary.

The ride to Nottingham was unremarkable, although the closer to his cousin he came, the less he was able to concentrate on anything other than the mindless puzzle games that didn’t take much brain power. At last the train pulled into the station and a few minutes later, Harry exited the terminal, looking around for a cab. He saw several and approached one.

“Where to, mate?” the cabbie asked as Harry eased into the back seat.

Harry gave him the name of the pub and the driver pulled out into traffic. Harry sat nervously in his seat, his right knee bouncing up and down.

The pub was situated close to the university dormitories. Harry paid the cab driver and went inside. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the cool darkness of the pub’s interior, so his first impression of the place was an auditory one: up close, there was the murmur of quiet voices and the soft tapping of cutlery on plates, while the click of billiard balls came from further away. Eventually, Harry spotted Dudley sitting at a table in a corner, a dark beer clutched in his beefy hand.

“Harry! Hi!” Dudley said as Harry approached the table.

“Hey, Dudley.” Harry pulled out a chair and sat opposite his cousin.

“Beer?” Dudley asked, raising his glass.

“No, thanks. I don’t drink. Doesn’t mix well with my meds,” Harry told him frankly.

Dudley raised an eyebrow. “Meds? What for?”

“Battle injuries,” Harry said shortly. 

“From when…” Dudley hinted.

“Two years ago.”

“Why’d it take so long? I thought that with a little hocus pocus you’d be done and I could finish school at Smeltings like Dad wanted me to.”

“Complications I can’t talk about,” Harry said curtly and abruptly stood up. “Let’s get some lunch. What’s good?”

“Get the fish and chips or the fish sandwich. Both are excellent,” Dudley said. He stood up and handed Harry some money. “Order me the fish and chips. I’ll hold our table. It’s going to get busy in here pretty soon, even though it’s summer.”

A loud pub was exactly the atmosphere Harry had been looking for; more privacy amidst a big crowd.

“Sure thing.” At the bar, Harry ordered their fish and chips before requesting a Coke to take back to the table. 

“Are you still boxing?” he asked as he sat down again.

Dudley shook his head. “Nope. I joined the Uni team my first year and had a pretty good year. Training was going well and I’d won a couple of bouts, but near the end of the season, I got hurt severely enough that I had to quit. That was a blow because I always thought I’d box for a couple of years after I finished school and then take a job in a clinic somewhere. The job came faster than I anticipated.”

“You’re doing well for yourself?”

“Yeah, I am. I have a steady girl I met a year ago. She works in the tech industry.”

Harry smiled at Dudley. “That’s good to hear.” He sipped his drink, then asked, “What did you and your parents do while I was out fighting bad guys?”

Dudley downed the last of his beer and signalled for another one before answering. “The first six months they kept us in a safe house, but Dad was going mental being around our minders, so it was decided to send Mum and Dad abroad while I stayed at the house and was home schooled. I wanted to stay in England,” Dudley said.

“How did they take that idea?”

“Not well. Dad yelled and turned purple a couple of times and called me all sorts of ugly things. Mum didn’t want to leave me, put up a right fuss, said I wasn’t ready to be on my own. I wasn’t an adult yet, so I didn’t know what was good for me.” At this, Harry struggled to keep from laughing. He could easily picture his aunt pleading to stay so she could coddle his cousin, her little Diddikins. “I pointed out that I’d been away at school for ten months every year since I was eleven and she hadn’t been bothered by it, so why should she get all weepy when it was her time to leave?” Dudley added.

“I bet that went over well,” Harry said dryly.

“Actually, it did. It convinced her that I’d be all right staying at the safe house with a couple of minders. Dad didn’t care where they went, he just wanted to get away, but Mum had always wanted to go to Canada, so Dedalus took them to Ottawa and settled them in a flat as an independently wealthy couple. They had a minder living a few blocks away they could call if there was trouble, but that far from Britain, it was assumed nothing would happen. Dad calmed down, apparently, and stopped blustering about ‘foreigners’ when he realized he was the foreigner and not the other way round,” Dudley explained with a smile. 

“Did they eventually go back to Surrey?” Harry asked as a server brought their meal.

“No, they sold the house on Privet Drive in oh-two and stayed in Ottawa. Mum really likes it there and Dad figures that if she’s happy, he can be happy there, too,” Dudley said.

Harry took a few seconds to digest this information. “What happened with you?” he asked eventually.

“I liked being home schooled. Hestia was a good teacher. For the first time, I actually understood what I was learning and before I knew it, I had my GCSE and had been admitted to Nottingham University under a different surname.” Dudley sounded rather proud of himself. “That was in ninety-eight. I graduated a year ago.”

Harry smiled genuinely for the first time. “That’s great, Dudley. Tell me about your job,” he prompted.

As they finished their meal, Dudley talked about the people who came for help at the clinic he worked at and what he did to help them. Harry listened quietly, somewhat surprised at the changes in his cousin. The seven years that had lapsed since they’d last seen each other had mellowed Dudley and made Harry wonder if they could have been friends if his cousin hadn’t been indulged quite so much as a child.

“Harry, why did you write to me out of the blue? Like you said, it has been a long time,” Dudley asked suddenly.

Harry startled at the direct question. This was it.

“I have PTSD,” he explained as Dudley murmured, “Thought so.”

Harry ploughed on. “My therapist thinks that acknowledging how I grew up and what I went through in the war and then letting go of the negative feelings will help me heal.”

“I can understand that,” Dudley said quietly. “We didn’t make life easy on you. _I_ didn’t make life easy for you. God, I was such an idiot!”

Harry stared at his cousin. “Did… did you just say what I think I heard?” he asked incredulously.

“Potter, you’re not the only one who’s been seeing a therapist lately. I’ve got my own issues to work through: that Dumby, Dumple, er Dumpy…” Dudley paused as Harry murmured, “Dumbledore” before continuing, “Er, yeah, him, your headmaster… was right about Mum and Dad not being a good influence on me. Some of them aren’t very pleasant.”

It hadn’t occurred to Harry that Dudley might be just as messed up as he was. It was an uncomfortable thought.

“Do you think it would help both of us if I forgave you?” Harry asked.

Dudley contemplated the dregs of his beer. “You know, I think it just might,” he said, looking as startled as Harry felt. “But I think I need to apologize first, so Harry, I’m sorry for making you my target while we were growing up. You were always smarter than I was and I resented that you made friends more easily than I did, so I bullied you. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Harry acknowledged the thing he never thought would happen, a genuine apology from Dudley. “And I forgive you.”

They looked at each other across the table, across time, and Harry felt something hard within him melt and ease away. He knew he’d still be bothered by his childhood, but somehow it didn’t matter quite so much anymore.

“Do you feel different?” Dudley asked, breaking their silence.

“Yeah, I do, but I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Neither do I.”


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Ginny celebrate their birthdays, Harry visits Madam Pomfrey, and Ginny finally gets to see Grimmauld Place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my absolute favourite chapters in this story, mostly due to the last scene. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I’m looking forward to what you, my readers, think of the chapter and thank everyone who has left reviews for letting me know what they think of the story.
> 
> I must admit that I have little knowledge of British football, so I relied heavily on Brennus’ knowledge of the game and the British teams. My husband, who watches Saturday morning matches every week, has tried to explain about team kit colours and thought I was being silly when I compared which team was wearing what colour to the Hogwarts Houses! Brennus was much more accommodating and helped me research an appropriate game from 2005. You’ll see why this is important when you begin reading the chapter.
> 
> As always, my thanks goes to my other editors, Melindaleo (who helped with the “soccer” action), Cackling Stump (who helped me reorganize my thoughts) and Mutt n Feathers who always finds the positive in what I write. 
> 
> I’m also giving a shout out to Melindaleo who has just posted the first chapter of her new story, Contagion. She’s posting it on SIYE, FanFiction.net, and HarryPotterFanFiction.com. Go have a look. The story is part of her Cuts Series and is gripping from word one.

Chapter 7  
They celebrated their joint birthdays by going to see Ginny’s favourite football club, Arsenal, play Plymouth Argyle in a F. A. Cup game and then going out to dinner after the game. Ginny was elated with the score—two-nil to Arsenal—having jumped up from her seat with the rest of the Arsenal fans when their team scored the final goal. 

“What a way to start the season!” she crowed as they exited the stadium. 

Harry had enjoyed the game, too, but it just wasn’t Quidditch. It had taken him nearly ten minutes to discover that he wasn’t supposed to be following the players in the green uniforms and get over the fact they never left the ground. When he finally figured out that this was a game between “Gryffindor” (Arsenal’s red uniforms) and “Slytherin” (Plymouth’s green uniforms), he joined Ginny in cheering on Arsenal. The precision of the kicking was impressive, even more so when a player could direct the ball to go exactly where he wanted it to go with his head. Harry got a bit lost in his own head imagining how the Chasers could adapt some of these moves to Quidditch. He could almost hear the roar of the crowd as a Chaser directed the Quaffle through the hoops with their head...

He also had an inkling of what Dean Thomas had said about his West Ham team all those years ago when he was trying to convince Harry, Seamus and Neville that football was an exciting game. Thoughts of Dean’s death at the hands of Walden Macnair at the Battle of Little Hangleton in December of ninety-seven had momentarily saddened Harry and taken away his enjoyment of the game.

Ginny noticed and inquired, “Aren’t you having a good time? I thought you liked football.”

Harry sighed and said, “I do like it. I was just remembering a comrade in arms who was the biggest West Ham fan I ever knew. He was killed eight years ago and every time I go to a game, I privately dedicate it to his memory.” While this was stretching the truth to the extreme, since this was the only football game he’d ever been to, it conveniently explained why he’d zoned out for so long. Besides, he really had dedicated the game he was watching to Dean.

Ginny frowned. “I don’t understand,” she said. “If your friend was a West Ham fan, why are you dedicating an Arsenal game to him? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Yes, it does,” Harry argued back. “Dean was first and foremost a football fan. While he cheered for West Ham, and went to as many of their games as he could, he would always accept an invitation to any game a friend wanted to go to. He just loved the game.”

Tilting her head to one side, Ginny had looked thoughtful before she said, “That makes sense.” She turned back to the game and began yelling, “Go, Pires, GO!” at a player in red who was currently kicking the ball down pitch.

Harry decided right then that it was more fun watching Ginny enjoy the game than actually looking at the game itself.

*

As Harry’s self-appointed carer, Hermione scheduled time off from work to accompany him to his September check-up in the Hogwarts hospital wing. She was nervous as she Apparated to the front steps of Harry’s house on the appointed day, mostly because she and Madam Pomfrey were going to reveal that they had been spying on him. She knew Harry was going to be angry and hoped he would understand her reasons for doing what she did.

“Hermione, hey, what’s wrong?” Harry asked when he opened the door. 

“Nothing,” she answered, far too quickly. When he raised an eyebrow, she amended, “I’m just hoping that you’ll be all right taking the Floo.”

“No need to be nervous,” Harry smiled. “I’m feeling fit as a fiddle and ready to Floo.”

His misquote of the Muggle saying was so bad that Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle. “Thanks, Harry. I needed a good laugh this morning. We need to be going in a few minutes to let you have enough time to walk up to the castle,” she said, as she stepped inside the house.

“I’m ready, now, Hermione,” Harry said, while pointing to the door to indicate that he wanted her to magically lock it. “After you.”

Hermione led him down the basement stairs and into the kitchen. As soon as she had lit the fire, Harry grabbed some Floo powder and threw it into the flames, calling out their destination, “The Three Broomsticks.”

Twenty minutes later, Madam Pomfrey greeted them as they strode into her office, a first for Harry since the war started prior to his seventh year. She handed Harry a pair of pyjamas, saying, “You know the routine. I’ll see you in a moment.”

Hermione sidled over to the matron while they waited for Harry to change. “Are you sure we need to tell him?” she asked in a low voice.

“Absolutely. You know how important honesty is to Harry after everything people withheld from him during the war,” Madam Pomfrey hissed back. “I don’t want to be someone he can’t trust and neither do you.”

“I’m just hoping he won’t get so angry he’ll hurt himself by doing magic,” Hermione worried.

“Let’s see what my tests say before you get too worked up about it,” Madam Pomfrey told her. “He really does look wonderful. Seeing him stride in here, barely leaning on his walking cane, has given me so much hope that he’ll make a full recovery. We really should be grateful to this Muggle woman for what she’s done for Harry.”

“When you put it that way, I agree that we need to confess,” Hermione decided.

She conjured a chair and watched quietly while Madam Pomfrey put Harry through his routine examination. At the end, the medi-witch smiled and said, “Harry, you’ve made remarkable progress since I last saw you. While your magic is still very low, your body is repairing itself a great deal faster than in the past. I’m pleased with your physical progress and that of your magical recuperation. However, I urge you to continue to let others do the spell work for you until I see you in November. Your magic is still not ready for you to do any spells just yet.”

Harry sighed in disappointment. “Do you have any other instructions?” Harry asked.

“No, but I think we might have an explanation for why you’ve begun to improve so rapidly,” Madam Pomfrey said, looking directly at Hermione.

He looked confused by their exchange.

Hermione took over after a nod of encouragement from Madam Pomfrey. “Harry, we’ve been researching the facts of your condition as we know them any way we could. We recently discovered that the spell Voldemort cast did more than just rip open your abdomen. We now know that it was also designed to take away your ability to live a long, happy life by making you miserable and blocking your capacity to form relationships.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “I still don’t understand. What does this have to do with my recent improvement?”

Hermione took a deep breath before continuing. “Harry,” Hermione said, getting up and sitting on the bed next to him, “Are you in love with the woman you’re seeing?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “How did you know I’m seeing someone?” he asked.

“You improved so rapidly over the summer I knew there had to be a better explanation than just your daily walks, so,” she looked down at her feet before mumbling, “I followed you one morning.” 

“What was that, Hermione? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

She looked up, her face blushing, and said more clearly, “I followed you one morning. I watched you greet a Muggle woman with a hug before stepping into her flat the day she opened the door looking like she’d been crying.”

“You followed me?” He looked thunderous for a few seconds, then surged to his feet and began pacing between the beds. He stopped in front of her, invading her space. “You spied on me?!”

Hermione looked him square in the eye and put her hand on his forearm. “I’m sorry for observing you without your knowledge, but we needed to know the reason for your rapid improvement.”

Harry jerked his arm away from her grasp abruptly and began pacing again. “Hermione, how could you do that? I’m not an enemy that you needed intel on! I’m your friend, or at least I thought I was!” He turned and confronted her again. “I don’t deserve to be spied on like some vile Death Eater! Do you even know how that makes me feel? How can I trust you if you don’t trust me enough to ask me about the people I meet on my walks?”

Madam Pomfrey stepped in front of him, making him take a step back from Hermione. “Harry, I need you to calm down. You’re using valuable energy being this upset,” she said.

“I don’t want to calm down! For once, I have the energy to be angry and I refuse to calm down!” he shouted at her. “The two of you have invaded my privacy for I don’t know how long and you’re telling me about it just now? Can’t I have just one thing in my life to myself for once? I’ve been dealing with this shite from the press all my life, and now I have to deal with it coming from my supposed best friend and my Healer?” he raged.

Hermione put a hand on his arm again, and he flinched back from her touch. Stung, she pleaded, “Harry, we’ve been researching the facts of your condition and we’ve discovered something fascinating—”

“Oh, now I’m just a lab rat, am I, something to be observed because I’m ‘fascinating’?” Harry interrupted. “Well, that’s just marvellous—”

“—so hopefully you won’t have to suffer so much!” Hermione cried. “Harry, it’s torn me apart watching you suffer for over a year. You have no idea what it’s been like having no clue how to help you, how horrible I, we, feel because nearly everything we try fails! It tears me apart watching you lay on the bathroom floor for hours because you’re too scared you’re going to be sick again if you move even a muscle!”

“I didn’t ask you to stay with me!” Harry yelled. “You have always been free to do as you like, even leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that!” Hermione screeched back. “I can’t abandon you like I did during the Horcrux hunt!”

“So instead, you follow me around like some sick rat, poking your nose into things that are none of your business!” Harry said accusingly.

“I followed you because I was hopeful that if you had met someone you had a chance of getting better,” Hermione tried to explain. “Harry, don’t you understand? Love is what’s making you better!”

“Love?! Love?!! You sound just like Dumbledore, claiming the ‘power He knows not’ is love! What do I know of love? When have I ever had a chance to experience love?”

“You know I love you, Harry!” she insisted. “There’s lots of people who love you!”

“If this is how you show you love me, you can just shove it!”

The cruel words hit Hermione with the full force of their venom as Harry surged past Madam Pomfrey and out into the corridor outside the hospital wing. Hermione fell back against Harry’s bed, silent tears streaming down her face. She looked up at the matron.

“Should I go after him?” she asked.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head. “Give him a few minutes. He needs to think about what the two of you have said and how it makes him feel. He’s a proud man, Hermione, and even with your good intentions, we still broke his trust.” She inhaled to say more, but an agonized cry from out in the corridor had her sprinting toward the hospital doors, Hermione on her heels.

They found Harry laying on his side, both hands clutching his abdomen. Passing students were pointing and whispering as they hurried past. Madam Pomfrey didn’t hesitate to levitate Harry back into the hospital and into his bed. 

“Open the potions cupboard!” she ordered.

Hermione flicked her wand at the cupboard and the doors and drawers opened. Several vials of potion sailed towards the bed two seconds later.

“Hold him upright just enough so I won’t spill the potions,” Madam Pomfrey ordered. “He’s relapsing.”

It took ten long minutes for Harry to finally relax and open his eyes. When he did, the first thing to come out of his mouth was an apology. “I’m sorry, Hermione,” he said. “I stormed out of here thinking that you were abandoning me and as soon as I thought that, the pain hit me.”

“Harry, did you think Hermione was withdrawing her friendship, her sisterly love for you, when you were out in the corridor?” Madam Pomfrey asked.

Harry closed his eyes. “I did.”

“That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you. Even though Voldemort’s curse attempts to prevent you from having or forming relationships, love can overcome it. Hermione’s love and dedication to you was what enabled you to get out of St Mungo’s. And your feelings of betrayal and abandonment just now were what made you relapse.”

“Harry, I’d never leave you alone again,” Hermione vowed.

“My mistake,” he mumbled. “I won’t be thinking like that anytime soon. Something inside me seemed to freeze up and sap my energy so quickly I fell down.”

“I’m glad that you have figured that out,” interjected Madam Pomfrey. “But Hermione’s love for you isn’t enough to make you fully well. That’s why, when we saw that you were improving more quickly than before, that we agreed that observing you to see if you had developed another relationship was in order.”

Madam Pomfrey was quiet for a moment, letting her revelation sink in. Then she prompted Harry, “Tell us about your new friend.”

He leaned back into his pillows and closed his eyes, a grin appearing on his face. “Her name is Ginny. She’s kind and funny and infinitely patient. She’s a registered nurse and we met each other because I overdid it on one of my walks past her flat. We’ve been friends ever since,” he said, suddenly realizing that talking about her was taking away his pain. He looked between Hermione and Madam Pomfrey and then asked, “Why is my relationship with Ginny so important?”

“Do you love Ginny?” Madam Pomfrey asked.

“I think I do,” Harry said without hesitation. “Why?”

“How do you feel now, compared to a few minutes ago?”

Confused, Harry paid mor attention to his pain, and said in a surprised tone, “It has improved significantly, probably gone from an eight to a three on a ten-point scale. What was in that potion you gave me? They have never worked that well before.”

Madam Pomfrey smiled. “I think you have your answer, Mr Potter. The potions are the same ones I always use. I don’t think they are the reason you are better; your thoughts about Ginny are.”

“You mean the reason I’m getting better is my relationship with Ginny?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, that fits with our research,” replied Hermione. “Our theory is that when you became interested in and formed a friendship with Ginny, you began fighting the curse with your love for her.”

Hermione watched Harry think about this. After a while, he said, “So the reason you were following me was to see if I was developing another relationship that was helping me get better?”

“Exactly,” Madam Pomfrey said. 

“Is there anything else I should know about this? Like how you came to this conclusion?” asked Harry.

Madam Pomfrey now conjured a chair for herself and sat down facing Harry and Hermione. “Miss Granger and I have come up with a theory based on the evidence we’ve collected over the last two years,” she began, “and we’ve come to the conclusion that Voldemort had two goals when he invented the spell. First, he wanted to hurt you physically. He used pain and the fear of pain to control his followers so successfully that he thought that if you were in constant physical pain, you couldn’t hurt him.”

Hermione took up the explanation. “Voldemort also wanted to hurt you psychologically. Constant pain erodes a person’s ability to have a normal life. Voldemort knew this and built it into the spell. What he didn’t count on was being killed right after he hit you with it. When your spell hit him, it took away his ability to fuel his own spell with his prodigious magic, so the spell failed. I think that if he was still alive, he would have had a way to control you more completely than if he used the Imperius Curse.”

“So, what you’re saying is that if I hadn’t killed Voldemort, I would be a resident of the permanent ward at St Mungo’s right now?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Madam Pomfrey answered. She consulted her notes and then said, “And you nearly were committed to that ward right after you woke up because you lashed out verbally and physically at everyone who ventured into your room.”

“I don’t remember doing that,” Harry said.

“I do,” Hermione said quietly. “Any time the healers needed to examine you or give you medicine, they had to Stun you. Then, one night about a month after you woke up, your healer forgot to Stun you and you didn’t lash out when she entered. After that, you let me approach you and keep you company when I wasn’t working because the spell was beginning to erode.”

“Harry, the spell did many terrible things to your body and mind, things that have taken us this long to understand,” Madam Pomfrey said. “Right after the battle, we knew several important things, including the damage to your internal organs and the depletion of your magic to near-Squib level. Your magic levels were so low that the Healers at St Mungo’s had to use Muggle medicines and techniques to stabilize you in order to help you heal. They kept you in a chemically-induced coma for the first six weeks of your hospitalization while your organs repaired themselves without the benefit of magic. You see, magical healing works with the patient’s magic to heal the body faster than it takes Muggles to heal. You had no magic to speak of and it would have been dangerous to give you potions that required magic to work. Once the Healers determined your magic had recovered enough, they weaned you off the Muggle medicines and introduced the new potions.”

“I vaguely remember someone telling me it was safe to put me on potions, but not why,” Harry said. “What I don’t understand is why people were so afraid to be around me. That’s what I really remember from that period.” 

“That’s the psychological component of the spell, Harry,” Hermione said. “Voldemort taunted you many times over the years about being weak for loving others. When he designed the spell, he made it so that you’d be violent and foul-mouthed so that you couldn’t be near other people without hurting them. As you said, you didn’t understand, but others couldn’t get near you long enough to explain it.”

Harry looked over at Madam Pomfrey. “Was the fact that I couldn’t eat much part of the pain component of the spell?”

“Yes, Harry, it is. Physical weakness wears on the mind. You complained of no appetite going back to when we started introducing food back into your diet. Without fuel, the body begins to consume itself, causing pain, and when you couldn’t eat, you were physically weak.”

“Then how did you discover that I need love to get better?” Harry asked.

“It started when you let me stay in your room,” Hermione told him. “We discovered that your magic levels elevated while I was with you, which facilitated your healing. That’s why I arranged to spend so much time with you, telling you I love you like a brother.” She glanced over at Madam Pomfrey. “As soon as we thought it safe, we asked Neville and Seamus to come to visit. Pretty soon, what was left of the original DA had volunteered to spend time with you. That’s how you discovered that Justin and Hannah fancied each other and Luna and her father had finally found their Crumple-horned Snorkack.”

Harry chuckled. “I remember the day Luna showed you the pictures of that thing. All it would do was show you its tail because you hadn’t thought it was real!”

“I felt so embarrassed because I’d been wrong all along not to believe,” she said, feeling her face heat a little. “But what all these visits showed us was that if you knew people loved or liked you, you were healing enough to eventually leave the hospital and that gave us hope that you’d eventually make a full recovery if you could make a new friend or romantic attachment.”

“Harry,” Madam Pomfrey said, “I’m glad you have found someone new to love. Not only is Ginny making you happy, her friendship is also helping to banish the last vestiges of Voldemort’s spell. You’re a lucky man to have found her when you did.”

“All right. Let’s say you’re right. Doesn’t it make sense that I should spend as much time with Ginny as I can?” Harry asked innocently.

“Yes,” replied Madam Pomfrey hesitantly, not sure where he was heading with the question. Hermione agreed with a nod.

Harry grinned. “Good, because I need help getting Ginny into the house the first time because of the Fidelius Charm and my restrictions on doing magic.” He pushed a hand through his hair, then added, “As much as I want to, I can’t hand her a paper with my address on it that compels her to destroy it once she’s committed my address to memory without help. Hermione, would you solve my problem by enchanting the paper I’m going to give her?”

Hermione laid a hand on his arm, causing him to look over at her. “You know I’d do anything to help you be happy,” she said earnestly. “I’ll be happy to do any spell work you need because Madam Pomfrey and I now understand Voldemort’s spell and what it was meant to do to you.”

Harry stared at something over Madam Pomfrey’s head. “One more thing: will you two be observing me and Ginny any time soon?” he asked. “It’s kind of creepy knowing you might be lurking behind a pillar the next time we decide to go walking through the British Museum.”

Hermione put her arm around Harry’s waist and laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m done stalking you, Harry. And I only did it the once,” she said. “I know I wouldn’t like it if there was a possibility of someone following me, so I’ll leave you alone unless you want my help with some spellwork,” she said. “The more we leave you to let your relationship flourish, the sooner you’ll be back to full health. Isn’t that right, Madam Pomfrey?”

The matron smiled. “It is indeed.”

Later that night, Hermione enchanted a piece of Muggle writing paper to compel the person touching it without gloves to put it in a pocket after reading what was written on it.

*

Harry slipped on a pair of light cotton gloves and dipped his quill into a bottle of water-soluble ink. He then wrote a short note to Ginny, sealed it in an envelope and dropped it in nearest post box the next time he was out for his walk. 

*

The closer it came to Christmas the more excited Ginny became… even if Christmas was still two months away. This year she would be going to her parents’ house for the family Christmas Eve get-together and she and Harry had made plans to spend the holiday together. This was because Ron was bringing his new girlfriend to meet their parents on Christmas Day and Ginny cared about her family enough to avoid Ron and any potential conflict being in the same room as he was would cause. While she was on better speaking terms with the rest of her brothers, Ginny still hadn’t talked to Ron.

The door to her flat swung open and she stepped inside, waving good-bye to Harry and kicking the pile of mail that had been shoved through the slot in her door during the day. She bent to pick it up and then went to hang up her coat and put the kettle on for tea before going to her bedroom to change clothes.

The pile of mail was still on the kitchen table when she came back to rescue the whistling kettle. She poured the hot water into her teapot and sat down at the table while her tea steeped. The pile of mail held the usual assortment of bills, adverts and magazines, but she couldn’t miss the fancy envelope with the strange handwriting on it and a post box as a return address. Setting aside the other mail for later, she ripped open the envelope and opened the short note, pleased to see that the sender was Harry. 

Ginny,

Let’s get together at my house this weekend. I live at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London. I’d appreciate it if you’d memorize this address. We can talk about our plans tomorrow.

Love, 

Harry

Harry had been so secretive about where he lived that she was surprised he was sending her his address by mail. She was also puzzled by why he wanted her to memorize it. Oh, well. She committed his address to memory, then put the note in her pocket.

Later that night, she spilled hot chocolate on her jeans while laughing at something silly on the telly. Though she usually waited until Friday to do her laundry, she gathered up her clothes and after treating the chocolate stain, threw everything in her washing machine and ran the load before bed. When she fished the clothes out to put them in the dryer, the piece of paper she’d put in her pocket earlier was on top of the pile of wet clothes. She picked it up and examined it: it was completely blank, even though the paper was still intact.

Weird, she thought as she threw her clothes in the dryer. I wonder if I should tell Harry what happened to his note…

*

Harry knocked on Ginny’s door about his usual time on Saturday morning. He was excited because she was coming back to Grimmauld Place with him and he was eager to hear her opinion on how he and Hermione had refurbished and redecorated the place. 

Several weeks before he was due to come home from St Mungo’s, Hermione had been determined that he needed to recuperate in a more modern setting, so she had hired a firm to detox, fumigate, and strip every room in the house of its depressing Slytherin décor. Then, she and Harry spent hours discussing what he wanted his living space to look like. He knew he wanted the house to be lighter in colour, so they worked their way through each of the rooms from the basement kitchen to the stairwell leading to the attic. The decorating company Hermione had hired had done a wonderful job with the paint scheme, but that had been as far as Harry was willing to let someone decorate his living space for him. The rest he had done himself.

“Are we walking to your house?” Ginny asked when she opened her door.

“Yes,” he replied. “I don’t live very far from you.”

They stepped out into a chilly, wet late autumn day. “Tell me about your house,” Ginny prompted.

“I inherited the house from my godfather,” Harry told her as they walked along. “It’s a Georgian era terraced house, so the front looks like every other house on the street. I began renovating it with Hermione’s help this last year, so it’s been painted throughout. Just last week, I had a rooflight installed that floods the central stairwell with light all the way to the ground floor. I’ve furnished some rooms like the kitchen, the drawing room, and library, but the rest of the rooms, except for my current bedroom are still unfurnished.” 

Harry was a little worried that Ginny wouldn’t like the neighbourhood he lived in, that she wouldn’t think it was safe. While it was much improved over what it had been ten years earlier, it still had a pall of neglect attached to it. Across the garden in the middle of the square, some of the houses still had broken windows, peeling paint and rubbish bags next to their front steps. It was odd, Harry reflected, that the houses on his side of the square were slowly being renovated while those opposite his home still weren’t cared for. Would Ginny notice the difference?

He paused outside the house, turning Ginny so that she was facing the garden. “Is the number of my house eleven or twelve?” he mumbled, just loud enough for Ginny to hear.

She automatically supplied, “It’s number twelve,” then turned around to really look at the houses. “Oh, I can see why you could easily get mixed up.”

Harry smiled, relieved that she could see his house, and took her hand, leading her up the steps of number twelve. She hesitated as they stepped through the Muggle-Repelling Charm. He didn’t let go of her hand until she relaxed.

“What was that?” Ginny asked. “I’ve never wanted to leave a place as soon as I arrived.”

“Just part of my security system,” Harry said vaguely. 

“Must be very high tech. I’m not sure I like how it made me feel.”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, hating the fact that he was utterly useless as a wizard. “I forgot to turn that part of the system off.”

Ginny mumbled, “Weird,” and went back to looking at the square while Harry pretended to unlock the door. He hoped she wouldn’t notice that he’d left the door unlocked. The door swung open and they entered the house.

“Oh, Harry, you’ve done a marvellous job!” Ginny exclaimed, looking appreciatively at the medium grey walls that accented the white-painted woodwork and blond oak wooden floors. Natural light poured down the stairwell from the rooflight at the top of the house.

Harry took her coat and hung it on the coat tree. “Thanks. This used to be one of the darkest parts of the house,” he told her. “The walls were covered in dark green flocked wallpaper, the floors were stained a dark oak colour, the gas lights were feeble, and the woodwork was the same colour as the floor. I really like being able to see where I’m walking in this part of the house. Shall I give you the grand tour?”

“Oh, yes, please.”

“Let’s start with the basement,” he suggested and led the way downstairs.

“You have a four-oven Aga!” Ginny exclaimed, as she walked over to the cooker. “Oh, I’m so jealous! Mum’s got an ancient one in her kitchen and I love how the plates are always warm and ready to cook.” She turned around and surveyed the rest of the kitchen. “And look at that marvellous fireplace! Is the house old enough that they used to cook over the fire?” She crossed the room to inspect the old stone and brick of the firebox. “Yes! I can see the holes where the old cooking arms and spits were attached to it! Harry, you’ve inherited a piece of London history!”

“I suppose I have,” Harry commented wryly.

Next, he showed her the empty dining room and “new loo” he’d added on the ground floor; Ginny just poked her head into these rooms.

“There’s more upstairs,” he said, leading the way and ignoring the curtain that covered what was left of Walburga Black’s portrait. He didn’t want to open it because in a fit of rage that had cost him an enormous amount of energy, he had slashed the canvas two days after he had come home from hospital. Hermione had found him sitting on the stairs unable to do more than lean on the bannister, staring at the knife embedded in the canvas, and had resorted to levitating him back to bed. The memory always made his ears burn. The portrait had been silent ever since. 

Ginny didn’t allow him to dismiss the curtain. “What’s behind the curtain?” she asked.

“A portrait so hideous, damaged, and glued to the wall that I can’t get it off without destroying the wall. It was easier to cover it up than look at it,” he told her as they mounted the stairs. “Taking it down is my next project. I’ll probably have to remove the plaster in order to get the frame off the wall.”

The first floor was dedicated to the drawing room and the library as well as Harry’s temporary bedroom. Harry had furnished the drawing room minimally with two armchairs, a sofa and a coffee table which were grouped around the fireplace at the back of the room.

“Do you have a place to relax? This is all so formal,” Ginny commented as she stood in the bare space in front of the large windows overlooking the street.

“That would be the library. It’s the other room I want to show you on this floor,” Harry said smiling.

When he opened the doors to the library, Ginny said, “Now, this is better! I like how you’ve let light into the room from the hallway by using French doors. Is the desk an antique?”

“Yes,” Harry answered as he grabbed a long match to light the fire. “My godfather told me it is an old family heirloom.” He walked over to the sofa and pushed a pouf against one end, sat down and put his feet up. The leather creaked as he moved. “This is where I spend most of my time. I love this room. It was the first that I fully furnished.”

“I don’t see a telly. Do you have one?” Ginny asked, looking around the room.

“I do. See that bookshelf that sticks out of the wall a bit opposite me? Push it to your left.” She did so and it slid silently over the other shelves to reveal a flat screen telly mounted in a recess between the shelves. It had taken Hermione more than a week to enchant the machine to work when he first moved into the house. It had been worth it because he had spent many mind-numbing hours laying in this very spot watching whatever he could find while he recuperated.

“This is so clever,” Ginny commented. “Paperback books are so easy to lose in normal-sized shelves. The roll-away bookcase is perfect for them.”

Harry picked up the remote, hoping the fresh batteries he’d put in it were still good. Batteries had a penchant for going dead soon after being put in some of his Muggle remotes and torches due to all the residual magic that permeated the walls of the house.

“Do you want to watch something? I think there’s an Arsenal game on,” he said.

“Actually, no,” she said, coming over and snuggling into his side. “I just like being here with you.”

Harry put the remote back in its place and kissed the top of her head. “I like being here with you, too.”

Ginny tilted her face towards him and kissed his chin. “You’re too tall,” she complained, smiling at him.

“I can fix that,” he said, grinning, and he lost himself in her kisses.

Several minutes passed, then Harry felt Ginny shift, swinging her leg over his and sitting on his lap. “Oh, that’s better,” she said as her hands began exploring his torso. Harry captured her lips and stuck a thumb under her jumper. To his delight, the skin of her abdomen was smooth and silky.

Ginny’s hands continued their exploration. When her fingers dipped into the back of his jumper, she pulled away. Her eyes wide, she asked, “You’ve been burned?” When he nodded, she asked, “When?”

With a sigh, Harry said, “December of ninety-seven. I stupidly ran into a burning building to rescue a friend. Neville and I both got out, but I was trapped under a burning beam as we left the building. Neville pulled me to safety, but I was in bad shape for a while there.”

Ginny caressed his face. “Harry, you’re so brave. Your friend Neville was so fortunate to have you looking out for him,” she said. She paused, then asked, “Can I… can I see the damage?”

Harry hesitated, suddenly unsure he wanted to watch her reaction. “I guess,” he said reluctantly. 

“Harry, I’m a nurse. I’ve seen all sorts of terrible things; scars, burns, rashes, cancers, snake bites, the list goes on and on. Will you trust me to be objective?” Ginny asked.

He nodded, knowing that before she saw his back, she’d see his curse scars. He was sure that she would shudder and refuse to look at him. If she left after telling him he was a grotesque monster, he wouldn’t go after her. He’d finally give up hope of having a normal life of a wife and family and accept his fate to be a bachelor for the rest of his life. Closing his eyes, he tugged off his jumper and waited for Ginny to scramble off his lap.

Silence permeated the room. Neither Harry nor Ginny moved. Then, Harry felt a warm finger gently tracing the line of the middle scar from its beginning to its end. When the hand stopped, it cupped his side. He opened his eyes.

“I can see now why you’ve been in such pain,” Ginny whispered. “Whoever did this to you was absolutely evil. I’ve only seen the result of a Bagh Nakh fight once before. Both combatants died within hours of receiving their wounds. Harry, you’re incredibly lucky to have survived. I’m humbled by your courage.”

Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You aren’t repulsed by what I look like?” he asked incredulously.

“No, Harry, I’m not. Those are just scars, however much pain they inflict.” She stopped and put a hand over the small scars on his chest. “I’ve come to admire and love the person you are in here, the brave man who is learning to forgive, the one who makes me feel that I matter. The scars are just body decoration.”

Harry covered her hand with his. “Thank you, Ginny,” was all he could manage to choke out because he was too busy feeling a part of the bleak darkness caused by Voldemort’s spell crack and crumble away. The flame of hope inside him burned brighter.

*

Ginny sat up late into the night thinking about what had gone on at Harry’s house that day. Something magical had happened between them when he had taken off his jumper. She agreed that the Bagh Nakh scars were hideous, but she had seen a side of Harry that she should have expected; he seemed amazed that she could look past the physical scars and see the beauty of his soul. Harry Potter was a very special man and she hoped he would be in her life for a very long time.


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny takes Harry home to the farm.

Chapter 8

The next few months were pure bliss for Ginny. She loved working with her patients at the hospital and thought it quite special that Harry continued to walk her to and from her Underground stop, no matter what the weather was like. Her days off were mostly spent with Harry, but she occasionally went to Devon to visit her parents. It was during one of these visits that her mother posed a question that Ginny hadn’t anticipated.

“When are we going to meet Harry?” her mother asked one Friday early in December.

“Er, I hadn’t thought to ask him if he’d like to meet you,” she replied truthfully.

“Well, it would be nice to meet the man who has captured your attention,” her mother commented.

“I suppose I could bring him out,” she hedged, “but part of the magic of coming here is being with the animals and the path to the barn isn’t the smoothest.”

“Ginny, you’re stalling. Get here while there’s still plenty of light and he shouldn’t have trouble walking to the barn.”

“Is it really so important that you meet him?”

“Yes. He makes you happy and I’d like to meet the man who makes my daughter happy. Don’t you want us to meet him?”

“I do want you to meet him, Mum, but I don’t want to jinx the relationship.”

“Are you afraid this one will turn out like the one with Michael?”

“Yes,” Ginny nearly whispered.

“Darling, if he’s as wonderful as you say he is, meeting us won’t jinx your relationship.”

Ginny sighed. “All right, you win. When would you like to meet him?” 

“Bring him down the next time you have a day off.”

“That soon? He might have plans for next Wednesday.”

“Yes. That soon,” her mother said emphatically.

“All right, I’ll ask him.”

It turned out that Harry really did want to meet her parents, so on the first Wednesday of the month, she picked Harry up and they drove out to the farm.

“Welcome, Harry!” her mother called as Ginny led him into the kitchen.

Ginny made the introductions and her father offered Harry a beer.

“I don’t drink, sir. I’m still taking medicine that shouldn’t be mixed with alcohol,” Harry said. 

“Then let’s go out to the barn before we lose the light,” her father said, handing Harry a pair of Wellies.

They spent nearly an hour in the barn while Ginny and her mother prepared their meal. It was nice getting to do something she hadn’t done in a long time, but as the time lengthened from fifteen minutes to a half hour, she began watching the clock surreptitiously.

“Ginny, they’ll be back when they’re good and ready,” her mother commented.

“What could they be talking about?” Ginny wondered.

“Whatever men talk about, dear. Engines, military service, farming,” her mother supplied kindly. “There’s something special about your young man that I’m sure you father sees that he didn’t see in Michael or your other boyfriends.”

“I’ll take it as a sign that Dad likes Harry,” Ginny said and went back to cutting up carrots for the stew they were making.

When they finally reappeared, both men were smiling. A look passed between her parents and Ginny saw her father wink… whatever that meant. 

She sidled up to Harry who had remained by the door to take off his Wellies. “Did you meet Margie the Murder Chicken?” she asked, trying hard to keep a straight face.

Harry nodded sagely. “I did,” he said. “She’s quite fearsome, don’t you agree?”

Ginny tilted her head to the side. “Nope, I think she’s a pussycat,” she countered.

“What makes you say that?” Harry asked.

“She’s just a sweet chicken and a very good layer,” Ginny said.

“Then how did she get her name?” he asked, shoving his feet back into his trainers.

“Oh, she’s quite aggressive if you’re a sick chicken. Then she goes in for the kill,” Ginny said, prudently. “She’ll peck you and pull out your feathers and help you die if the farmer doesn’t isolate you. Margie definitely rules the roost around here.”

Harry cleared his throat. “Erm, that sounds like Vol— like someone I used to know,” he said, looking uncomfortable. He gently touched his abdomen and breathed in deeply.

Ginny eyed him thoughtfully. “That’s the second time in a couple of weeks you nearly said that name. Is that the name of the bloke who hurt you?” she asked, her hand automatically beginning to rub circles on Harry’s back. When he nodded, she continued, “I’m here any time you need to talk. You know that, right?”

Harry smiled at her. “I do,” he said, his voice shaking a little. “I get stuck in my head sometimes. It helps when I can talk about things.”

“Good,” Ginny told him, smiling and watching him relax. “I also know a good cure is a full stomach, even if you can’t eat much at first. Mum and I made enough food to feed my brothers while you and Dad were in the barn. Let’s go eat!”

Harry followed her to the table that was groaning under the many dishes set along its length. The rest of the evening was filled with laughter and good food and when it was time to go, Ginny watched as Harry accepted a hug from her mother and hugged her back.

*

Several days later, Ginny made the trek to Devon, this time to put flowers on Fred’s grave for the first anniversary of his death. When she arrived at the graveyard, someone else was standing before her brother’s headstone.

“George?” she asked quietly. 

He turned to face her and she saw the tear tracks on his cheeks. Immediately, she put her flowers in front of the grave and embraced her brother.

“Oh, George, are you all right?” she asked.

“About as good as I can be under the circumstances,” he said, sniffing. Ginny gave him a tissue. “I can’t believe he’s been gone a whole year.”

“That makes two of us,” she said, thinking about all the changes in her life in the last twelve months.

They stood holding each other for a long time, gazing at the tombstone. Finally, George asked, “Do you remember the time Fred put pepper in Percy’s underwear drawer?”

Ginny smiled. “I sure do. He couldn’t stop sneezing for a week because Fred had put so much of it in there. Mum finally just hauled off and washed everything, plus the inside of the drawer. I don’t recall who was madder: Mum or Percy.”

“Doesn’t matter because Fred couldn’t keep a straight face for very long. How old were we? Ten?”

“At least because that would have made me seven and I definitely remember getting to watch Fred muck out the barn by himself. Remember he slipped and got some dung in his hair?”

“I think the stink was the worst part of that whole prank,” George chuckled. “Nobody would sit next to Fred until Mum found a shampoo strong enough to mask the smell.”

They stayed a few more minutes, reminiscing. When they parted, Ginny knew George was feeling happier than when she’d found him.

*

It snowed on twenty-third December. Ginny planned to drive out to the farm the next day, and she hoped the roads wouldn’t be too slippery. She would need to allow lots of extra time to negotiate the narrow, winding country road that led to her parents’ farm.

Christmas Eve morning dawned bright and clear, the complete opposite from the day before. Ginny was up before the sun wrapping last minute gifts and boxing up her contribution to the family feast. A few minutes before she was due to leave, she carted everything out to her car and stowed it in the boot. A particularly large box designated for George’s tiny son wouldn’t fit, so she secured it in the back seat. As she went back inside to lock up her flat, she wondered if her brothers would open the box and put the activity jumper together without looking at the instructions. It would almost be more fun to watch her brothers trying not to swear in front of the children than watch the children play with their new toys, she mused.

The drive to Devon went smoothly while she traversed the major motorways. However, the last two miles of back roads leading to the farm were still snow-covered and she almost called ahead to see if one of her brothers would come pick her up. In the end, she arrived with white knuckles, having narrowly avoided running into a tree as she slid into the yard and parked next to an unfamiliar Range Rover. She thought it might be Charlie’s. It would be good to see him again.

“Who does the Range Rover belong to?” she asked as she walked into the kitchen.

A chorus of “Happy Christmas, Ginny” greeted her from every corner of the room except for the high-pitched nasal voice that called out, “It’s mine.”

Ginny followed the voice and discovered a very blond, heavily made-up woman sitting at the kitchen table. Sitting next to her, surrounded by crumbs, was Ron. Ginny’s good mood evaporated faster than liquid nitrogen.

“What are you doing here?” she asked Ron a bit more aggressively than she should have.

“I was just about to ask you the same question,” he said, standing up. He towered over Ginny, but instead of feeling intimidated, she stood her ground.

“I was under the impression that Christmas Eve was my time with our family and yours was tomorrow, since Mum was the one who invited me,” she said.

“Well, she invited me, too,” Ron blustered. 

“Well, you should check your calendar before you come home!” Ginny huffed. “Other people might have reserved the right to be here before you.” She turned to her nearest brother. “Percy, would you help me bring the presents and food from my car, please? There’s a box in the back seat that needs to find a place beneath the Christmas tree and it’s almost too big for me to lift.”

Percy looked pleased at having something to do. “Lead the way,” he said quickly, relieving Ginny of the tin of biscuits she was carrying and setting it on the table.

“I’m coming, too,” George volunteered, grabbing his coat from the pegs near the back door and following Ginny out to her car.

As soon as they were outside, Percy began complaining, which surprized Ginny. “Can you believe that woman Ron’s brought home? I’ve seen some airheads in my time with the Prime Minister, but this one takes blond bimbo to the extreme!”

“What’s her name?” Ginny asked. “We didn’t get to the introductions.”

“Her name’s Patti, ‘Patti with an I,’” Percy mimicking the woman in question perfectly. Ginny giggled.

“She and Ron sent out joint Christmas cards about a week ago and she signs her name with a heart over the I,” remarked George. “Makes me want to gag.”

“What’s he trying to do, alienate the lot of us?” Ginny asked while opening the boot to her car.

“I think so,” Percy said. He hefted a cooler from the boot and set it on the ground. “Even Mum’s a bit ticked off and Patti’s been here less than an hour.”

“Come on, you two. If Mum’s going to say something, I don’t want to miss the start of the fireworks,” George sniggered. He pulled the big box out of the back seat and looked pleased when he discovered his son’s name on the label.

“Did Ron say why he came a day early?” Ginny asked as they trudged back toward the house.

“Not really,” Percy said. “He walked in the door about nine, introduced the girlfriend, put some packages under the tree, sat down at the table, and asked what was for breakfast.”

George laughed, “Those of us who came last night were up in time to help Dad with the milking and feeding the animals, so we’d eaten breakfast long before he showed up. Mum handed him a loaf of bread and some butter and told him to make his own toast!”

“Good for her,” Ginny snickered as she pushed open the door.

The atmosphere in the kitchen was definitely tense and Ginny felt like she was walking into a conversation she wasn’t supposed to hear. She found it easier to ignore the situation than inquire about it; she instead directed George to put the big box in the sitting room and told Percy to put her cooler in the scullery. As she hurried past the table following George, she heard Ron say to Patti, “Don’t eat anything Ginny brought. It’s probably poisoned.”

Ginny couldn’t get out of the kitchen fast enough and she spent a little longer than necessary arranging her packages under the Christmas tree.

“Ginny, dear, would you come help me?” her mother called. 

“Sure thing, Mum,” Ginny answered and went back into the kitchen. It was empty except for her brothers’ wives. “Have they all gone out to the barn?” 

George’s wife, Charlotte, answered, “Yes, they took the kids to see the alpacas. Your brothers frog marched Ron out there when he wouldn’t get up from the table. I’ve never seen anyone who is as stubborn as he is.”

Jeannine, Bill’s wife, giggled, “Tory and Liam thought it was a game and helped push Ron out the door!”

“Ron always was one to need a bit more prodding than my other children when it’s time to do something he doesn’t want to do,” Ginny’s mother told them.

“He’s not lazy,” Patti’s nasal voice butted into the conversation. “No one seems to see how much he does at the office, especially his family.”

Ginny counted noses, multiplied by two for spouses, added the number of children needing chairs at the table and began counting out silverware and plates to keep her temper from boiling over. She deliberately turned her back on the woman and went to get the boxes of Christmas Crackers from their hiding place in the scullery. Her mother had been hiding the boxes on the same high shelf for as long as Ginny could remember. She handed them to Patti. 

“Put a cracker on each plate,” she instructed as she picked up the stack of plates and began distributing them around the table.

Her sisters-in-law joined in with the cutlery, glasses, and serviettes and soon the table looked quite festive and ready for the numerous platters that were waiting to be brought to the table.

“Patti, would you go out to the barn and call the rest of the family,” Ginny’s mother asked.

Patti looked down at the stiletto-heeled sandals she was wearing. “I can’t go out there,” she whinged, “I’ll get my shoes stuck.”

“There are Wellies by the back door, ducks,” chimed in Olivia, Charlie’s wife. “Find a pair that fits and go call the men.”

Patti scowled at Olivia, but tottered over to the pile of Wellies and primly stuck a foot into one of them, catching the heel of her sandal and nearly falling over. She found a second and scuffed over to the door, looking very much like a little girl wearing her mother’s shoes while playing dress-up. Unfortunately, the foul words issuing from her mouth ruined the image.

As the door closed behind her Percy’s wife, Mia, looked over at Ginny and said, “We’re on your side, Ginny. I heard Ron thank Patti for getting the date wrong, and that he was enjoying ruining your Christmas. None of us like her and I’m sorry your special day with the family isn’t going to be much fun.”

Ginny hugged Mia. “I can salvage the day knowing I have your support,” she said, smiling at the rest of the women gathered around her. “Now let’s help Mum get this meal on the table.”

It was elbow-to-elbow seating at the table with two extra people squeezed around it, but Ginny’s mother managed to seat everyone so that arguments might be avoided. Mainly, she put Ron and Patti next to her husband and the rest of the family filled in, with Ginny sitting out of Ron’s line of sight next to her mother.

Ginny actually enjoyed the meal. Bill’s children were old enough to carry on a lively conversation with her and she learned that Tory wanted the Bratz Rock Angel dolls while Liam was hoping to get a Power Rangers Thundersaurus Megazord. Just a few questions to each child had them extoling the merits of each toy. Percy and Mia’s daughter, Jill, wanted a Baby Annabell “that really cries” and Charlie and Olivia’s son, Damian, wanted a Tigger or a Piglet soft toy. Olivia told Ginny that Damian had seen his first Winnie-the-Pooh video and had fallen in love with the two characters.

By pudding, Ginny was convinced that Ron would keep his mouth shut, when she was proven wrong. Various platters of biscuits and Christmas sweets were being passed around the table when Ron suddenly exclaimed, “Spit that out! It’s poisoned! Ginny made those!”

Conversations all along the table came to a screeching halt. Heads swivelled between the two siblings as Ginny leaned over her plate to see Ron’s end of the table.

“Why would I want to poison our family?” she asked, barely keeping her temper in check.

“You killed Fred,” Ron shot back. “Why not the rest of us?”

“I did no such thing, Ronald Weasley! Cancer killed Fred!” Ginny snarled.

“It did not! You did!” Ron yelled, standing up so fast his chair fell over. “You altered his medicines or poisoned him somehow!”

It was taking all Ginny’s resolve not to jump up and get in his face as well, but she tamped down on the instinct and fought to remain calm and succinct. “Where’s your proof? Show me the evidence that backs up your accusations.”

“It’s all at the hospital in those charts hung on the end of the patients’ beds.”

Ginny laughed derisively. “Ron, you’ve been watching too many television programs. The charts aren’t hung on patients’ beds any more. It’s done mostly electronically these days,” she chortled, but the sound was anything but happy.

“Computer records can still be altered,” Ron growled. Looking slightly deranged. Ginny knew her lack of venom was unnerving him.

“Yes, they can, but it’s considerably harder than taking an eraser and rubbing out a word or symbol and writing something else in,” Ginny countered. She was vaguely aware of Jeannine, Mia, and Olivia quietly leading their children out of the kitchen. She was glad they were because this argument wasn’t something children should hear. George’s son began to cry, so Charlotte took him out, too.

“The evidence doesn’t need to be written down,” Ron snarled, bringing Ginny’s attention back to himself. “Fred didn’t react like Fred that night. He acted like he was drugged.”

“Of course, he didn’t act like himself, you idiot, he was drugged!” Ginny shot back, beginning to lose her carefully measured control. She finally stood up and stalked towards her brother. “He’d been given morphine and other meds to ease his pain and make his last hours a little more comfortable. His body was shutting itself down in preparation for death. I doubt he knew who was with him when he died. The cancer had taken over his body.” This last came out as a sob, and Ginny wanted to flee the room to gather herself together, but she knew leaving would just cement Ron’s convictions that he was right, so she stood there with tears coursing silently down her cheeks.

“If that’s true, then why did Fred will you so much more money than he did the rest of us?” Ron yelled, swinging his arms wildly.

“Oh, that’s rich! You’re jealous of the time I spent with Fred!” Ginny spat, matching his animosity. “You can’t stand the fact that Fred knew I understood what he was going through and was willing to spend whatever time I could with him. He said thank you the only way he could, he did that for every one of his brothers who could came to visit. 

“You, on the other hand, couldn’t be bothered to visit him. Where were you when he lost his hair? Where were you when he was vomiting so horribly from the chemo that his doctor thought he was going to lose Fred because the anti-nausea meds weren’t working? Where were you when Fred begged to be taken off life support and just allowed to die? You weren’t there! Your job search and new girlfriend were too important for you to make time to visit your dying brother. All you had to do was take a measly hour or two out of your day to spend a few minutes with him, letting him know he mattered to you. All of our other brothers did! But you didn’t come to his bedside until it was too late. You disgust me, Ronald Weasley.”

“So maybe I am jealous, but I got you in the end. Those comments I made got you in trouble and made everyone see what you did,” Ron crowed. “You had to leave the hospital, fitting punishment for someone who stole my brother’s life.”

Their father pounded the end of the table with his fist, making the china and silver jump. “Ronald Thaddeus Weasley, you will stop right now. This is not the time to air the family’s dirty laundry, especially if you insist on falsely accusing Ginny of something she didn’t do. If you don’t apologize to your sister right now, you need to leave. You are not welcome to come back for our family celebrations for the rest of the year. You’ve done enough damage.”

Ron gestured wildly towards Ginny. “What about Ginny?” he demanded. “Why aren’t you throwing her out? She yelled just as much as me.”

Their father folded his arms, his best “disappointed father” expression on his face. “Ronald, your sister was defending herself from your accusations. I suggest you leave before you do any more damage.”

Ron sputtered, gesturing wildly between his father and Ginny as if he couldn’t believe their father would choose Ginny over him, then looked down at his girlfriend. “Come on, Patti. I’m not staying one more minute in the same room as my money-grubbing, brother-killing sister,” he said, backing away from the table. Patti stood and grabbed a plate of store-bought biscuits that nobody had touched. Two minutes later, Ron carried her down the steps of the house and out towards the Range Rover. Bill shut the kitchen door firmly behind them.

“You didn’t deserve that,” Ginny’s mother said as she hugged her daughter. 

“Thanks, Mum,” Ginny whispered, still horribly upset, though her tears had dried. Ron wasn’t worth crying over.

“Will you stay for presents?”

Ginny pulled back. “I don’t think so. I’m not feeling very festive anymore.”

“All right,” her mother said. “George, Charlie, please gather your sister’s presents and take them out to her car. Bill, will you drive your sister out to the motorway, please? Percy, will you follow them and bring Bill back?”

All four of Ginny’s brothers grabbed their coats and Ginny said to her mother, “I’ll pick up the cooler and empty platters the next time I’m here. Thank you for trying to give me a pleasant family Christmas.”

She made the rounds of her sisters-in-law and gave Tory, Liam, Jill, and Damian an extra hug.

“Auntie Ginny, why aren’t you staying? You’re going to miss presents,” Tory said as Ginny put on her coat.

Ginny sighed. “I don’t feel like opening presents now, Tory. My argument with Uncle Ron has made me unhappy and I just want to go back to London right now,” she told her honestly. She paused, wanting Tory to understand that she was sad to be leaving the farm. “Tell you what… when I’m feeling better can I come to your house? We could play anything you want, all right? We can even pretend it’s Christmas.”

Tory smiled. “That will be fun,” she said as she threw her arms around Ginny’s neck one more time.

*

Harry was just thinking about turning in for the night after spending a quiet evening at home with Hermione—who would be going to Anthony’s to celebrate Hanukah rather than Christmas with the Goldsteins—when his doorbell rang several times in a row. Grabbing his dressing gown, he descended the stairs as fast as he could.

“Ginny, I thought you’d be at the farm,” he said as he threw open the door and she literally tumbled into his arms.

“I had a fight with Ron after dinner. We both said some really ugly things,” she sobbed into his neck. “I just had to get out of there, but I didn’t want to go home. Was it all right to come here? I still felt the urge to leave.”

Harry held her tightly. “Oh, Ginny, it’s absolutely all right,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “Let’s go up to the library. We’ll be more comfortable up there.”

Ginny pulled back with a sigh. “All right,” she sniffed. She hung her coat up on the coat tree and followed him up the stairs. 

As he passed the portraits hanging on the wall, he whispered, “Freeze,” to each one. Sirius Black, his parents, and Remus and Tonks Lupin all froze in place. Professor McGonagall vacated her portrait for her portrait at Hogwarts, leaving a pleasant landscape in her place.

“I don’t remember seeing these portraits the last time I was here,” Ginny remarked as they passed the painted faces. 

Harry turned to look down at her. “I put them up last week. Two of them needed new frames, and they were at the framer’s when you were here a couple of weeks ago,” he fibbed. In reality, he had taken them down and stored them in Sirius’ childhood bedroom that weekend.

At the first floor landing, he stopped and waited for Ginny to catch up, since she had taken her time looking at each one on her way up. As her foot touched the top step, Harry saw his father sneeze and his mother slap her hand over his mouth. The sound was faint, but in the quiet house, Ginny heard it and turned back. Harry hoped she hadn’t seen his parents move.

“Harry, did the middle portrait just sneeze?” she asked.

He shook his head. “The house creaks like that sometimes.”

“Weird,” Ginny mumbled as she turned back.

Harry lit the oil lamps sitting on his desk and a couple of end tables. The soft glow from the lamps gave the room an old fashioned, romantic feel. “Do you want some cognac?” he asked as he put the Muggle matches back in their place. “You know I can’t have any, but there’s no reason why you can’t enjoy it.”

Ginny sat down on the sofa and considered his offer with her head cocked to one side. “You know, that might just help me unwind,” she said. “I’ve had over three hours to stew over my argument with Ron and it’s time to banish him from my thoughts. So, yes, please.”

Harry walked over to one of the cabinets and reached behind a short stack of books. The bottle was nearly full, and it was a bit dusty, having sat in Sirius’ pantry since he’d put it there the summer Harry first came to Grimmauld Place ten years ago. He showed it to Ginny.

“My godfather had this in his collection ten years ago. I don’t think he liked it.”

“Hennesy XO? Harry, this stuff’s really expensive.”

The only other liquor in the cabinet was a bottle of cheap Firewhisky, which Harry refused to let Ginny drink. “It’s either this or tea,” he said.

“I’ll take the cognac,” she said decidedly.

Harry smiled at her, poured a small amount into a crystal snifter and brought the bottle and the glass back to the sofa with him.

Ginny swirled the dark brown liquid in both hands, warming it, before taking her first sip. “Oh, my, that’s good!” she said appreciatively as she settled against the back of the sofa. Harry sat down next to her and put an arm over her shoulders.

“Tell me about what happened at the farm,” he said.

Ginny’s story made Harry want to hex Ron to kingdom come. “The horrible thing about this whole argument is that it’s ruined Christmas Eve for all the rest of my family,” she concluded. “I mean, Mum was all set to have me stay overnight and leave after we opened our stocking gifts, about six o’clock tomorrow morning. The two of us could have stayed up late and had a good mother/daughter conversation like we used to. Ron was supposed to arrive about ten so there would have been no overlap. Now, Dad’s banished Ron from the family festivities for the rest of the year and I won’t get to watch my brothers put together my gift for George’s little boy.”

“I’m sorry Ron ruined your time with your family,” Harry said.

“It was going to happen sometime. I just wish it would have been a non-holiday dinner,” Ginny sighed.

Harry grinned. “Now who’s the one talking about wishes?” he asked.

Ginny gave him a wan smile. “I deserve that,” she said and drained her glass. Harry picked up the bottle of cognac, but she shook her head. “I need to get home before this lovely liquor goes straight to my head.”

“I don’t think you can go home,” Harry said. “It was snowing pretty hard when you arrived and by now your car will have been snowed in for the night. Please stay.”

Ginny walked over to the window that overlooked the back garden. After a long moment she said, “I’ll stay.”

Harry suddenly realized that the only fully assembled beds in the house were in his, and Regulus and Sirius’ old rooms. With all the magical items in those rooms, it wouldn’t do to let her sleep in them.

“Er, Ginny, the only bed in the house that can be slept in is mine,” he told her, feeling his face heat up.

Ginny came back to the sofa and caressed his cheek. “Having someone hold me tonight is just what I need,” she whispered. “Should I go out and get my case?”

“I have an extra pyjama shirt you can borrow,” Harry hinted.

Ginny yawned. “I like that idea,” she said.

It took only a few minutes to get themselves sorted, the oil lamps extinguished and some suitable sleepwear found for Ginny. As the grandfather clock in the drawing room chimed midnight, Harry held open the covers of his bed, inviting Ginny to snuggle against him. 

“Happy Christmas, Ginny,” he whispered in her ear.

“Happy Christmas, Harry, good night,” she murmured back.

The last thing to cross Harry’s mind was how nice it was to hold his girlfriend as he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Margie the Murder Chicken comes from one of my favourite YouTube channels, Gold Shaw Farm, where many of the ducks, geese (the gander is named Justin Finch-Fletchley), chickens, and even the dog have been given Harry Potter names. This is a real farm in Vermont, USA and much of my inspiration for Arthur and Molly’s farm has been taken from the videos posted twice weekly.
> 
> The arguments in this chapter were very hard for me to write because I would rather write romance than angst, so many thanks to Melindaleo and Cackling Stump for their suggestions, encouragement and patience with my many rewrites. I also thank Mutt ‘n Feathers and Brennus for their continued willingness to edit this story.


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas and Harry and Ginny celebrate the holiday together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, everyone, the chapter you’ve been waiting for! Was it worth the wait? Let me know.
> 
> Special thanks to my editors and cheering section Melindaleo, Cackling Stump, Brennus, and Mutt N Feathers for all their input into this chapter that kept me rewriting the chapter to bring out its best.

Chapter Nine

Ginny stirred as sunlight wormed its way between the slats of the wooden shades on the bedroom window. At first, she was confused as to where she was, then a soft snore sounded in her ear and she felt the weight of Harry’s arm around her waist. She smiled when she realized she’d spent the night in Harry’s arms. 

Turning very carefully onto her back so as not to disturb Harry, she lay listening to his house. It had the usual faint boiler sounds and the occasional creak of an old house, but there was an additional susurration that sounded like voices out in the stairwell. She couldn’t help thinking that the portraits could move and talk. She’d love to catch them at it and see what sorts of artistic wizardry had gone into the animation. 

The need for the loo finally forced her from the warm cocoon of Harry’s arms. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she covered her mouth to suppress a giggle when she spied the discarded pyjama shirt hanging lopsidedly off the mirror over the dresser and the pair of boxers gracing the bedside table on her side of the bed. They had certainly had fun celebrating Christmas together last night! A bit cold at the moment, Ginny padded across the room and groped behind the door for Harry’s dressing gown.

As she stepped out into the hallway, the whispering stopped. Curious, she tiptoed down the stairs and was surprised to see that all five figures were congregated in the large portrait of Harry’s parents. It was almost as if the people in the picture had been carrying on a conversation. Ginny looked away and when she turned back all the people were back in their own frames. She stood on the stairs, shaking her head and pointing silently to each picture, wondering whether she was hallucinating from the cognac she’s drunk last night. With a sigh, she retreated up the stairs and used the loo.

“Happy Christmas, beautiful,” Harry greeted her as she slid back into bed a few minutes later.

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” she said, and kissed him lightly on the forehead.

“So, what do you want to do today?” he asked, reaching for the belt of the dressing gown. “We didn’t plan much except for you coming over and opening our gifts together.”

“Let’s dig out my car enough to open the boot and one of the back doors and then have breakfast,” Ginny suggested as she guided his hand inside the garment. “Mum and Dad sent me home with my gifts. Would you mind if I opened them here?”

Harry grinned at her. “Be my guest,” he said. “You can tell me about the giver as you open them.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Much later, they dressed warmly and went in search of a broom or shovel to clear a path to Ginny’s car. She was surprised that Harry didn’t own a snow shovel, but thought an ordinary garden shovel would do the trick nicely. Harry found an old-fashioned-looking broom and the two made quick work of digging out the car, especially after they unearthed her car brush and ice scraper. Back in the house, Harry began making a big breakfast of eggs, toast, bacon, sausages, beans, and tomatoes and mushrooms.

“I’ll pop if I eat all that!” Ginny exclaimed as he set an enormous plate of food in front of her. 

“I’m sure you’ll clean your plate,” Harry smirked, sitting beside her. “After all, we did work up quite the appetite last night and this morning.”

Ginny gently nudged him in the ribs. “That we did,” she conceded as she stabbed the point of her toast in her egg yolk, eliciting a small chuckle from her dining partner. She had noticed that his own plate was half the size of hers and was curious about it. Was he trying to keep his “girlish figure” or wasn’t he eating that much again? She considered the question as she took her first bites of the delectable meal and realized that Harry was probably now in the habit of eating a healthier breakfast than the traditional fry up.

They made quick work of the dishes afterwards and then went up to the drawing room where they’d deposited Ginny’s presents. Harry dragged the two armchairs over to the window and opened the curtains. Light poured into the room as they sat down amongst the boxes and gift bags that covered the floor in front of the window. Ginny was glad to see that Harry had a number of small gifts next to his chair.

“How about you open two to every one of mine?” he suggested.

Ginny picked up a squashy gift, knowing exactly what it was. Her mother had started knitting jumpers for the family when Bill was tiny and now had to start knitting in May in order to get them all done in time for Christmas, even with a knitting machine to make the task easier. This year’s jumper was lacier than her last few and when Ginny tugged it over her head, she felt wonderfully feminine in the silk and mohair confection. She told Harry a story about how her mother had started knitting letters into Fred and George’s jumpers to help the family tell the two apart, but the little rascals had discovered how she was using the letters and started wearing each other’s sweaters. 

“I’ve never met George, but if Fred is anything like his brother, those two must have been holy terrors when they were growing up,” he said.

“Oh, they were. Nothing in my toy box was safe from them!” Ginny exclaimed as she reached for a box from Bill, Jeannine, Tory and Liam and began to unwrap it. “I always stood back or to the side when I was little, just in case something inside was set to jump out at me.”

“My gift is from Hermione,” Harry said, holding up a thin rectangle wrapped in Father Christmas paper and green ribbon. “You know she’s my oldest friend. She’s brilliant and helped me stay afloat while we were in school. I once tried to get her to let me copy or paraphrase one of her essays, and she snatched it out of my hands and told me to do my own work because how would I learn if I didn’t do the work myself?”

“She sounds like someone who likes to follow rules,” Ginny comments.

“Hermione followed all the rules our first year until the end of October. Unfortunately, she got mixed up in some trouble I had gotten myself into and after that, she loosened up a little and started to be fun.” Harry sighed and looked at the package in his hands. “Her favourite present to give someone is a book. I hope this isn’t a personalized homework planner like she gave me in fifth year!”

“Well, open it and find out,” Ginny suggested as her curiosity peaked.

Harry tore off the wrapping and pulled out a book entitled, The Happy Homeowner: One Thousand Ways to Keep Your House Happy. “Yep,” he said. “She’s so predictable!”

Ginny giggled.

Harry’s next gift was from his godson. He grinned at the mug that had “Best Godfather Ever!” written on it. 

“How old is Teddy?” Ginny asked.

“He’ll be eight in April,” Harry told her proudly.

They made quick work of the rest of the presents until there were only two left, the ones they were giving each other. Ginny had taken a lot of time trying to decide on what to give Harry and in the end had handknitted him his own Weasley jumper. While the dark blue wool hadn’t been the most expensive in the shop she’d gone to, it was of high quality and she’d enjoyed the hours she’d sat before her telly knitting the soft yarn into something that Harry might wear for many years to come. She held her breath as he opened the package.

“Ginny,” he asked, “did you knit this for me? It’s wonderful!”

She couldn’t help the smile that seemed to split her face. “Try it on. I want to see if I got the size right,” she urged.

Harry shrugged out of the jumper he was wearing over a button-down cotton shirt and put on his present. Ginny grinned happily when it looked like the jumper fit him perfectly.

“I’m not taking this off until spring,” Harry announced, making her giggle again. “Thank you. Now it’s your turn.”

Ginny picked up a medium sized box that felt very light. The paper came off quickly and when she lifted the lid, she discovered a small velvet box nestled in a bed of tissue. Setting the bigger box aside, she opened the smaller one to find a pair of square-cut peridot earrings. The settings weren’t ostentatious, but the gems sparkled in the light coming in the window.

“Oh, Harry, these are lovely!” she exclaimed. 

“I thought you might be able to wear them to work,” he said. “I’ve noticed that you don’t wear anything that dangles, so I thought these would be appropriate.”

“They are,” she said, taking out the earrings she was wearing and putting her new ones in their place. “I’ll show all the other nurses what a thoughtful boyfriend I have.”

The floor creaked and she looked up again, her eyes widening. Harry was down on one knee with another tiny box in his hand. She held her breath…

“Ginny, I know we haven’t known each other very long, but it seems like I’ve known you all my life. I think of you often when we’re apart because you make me feel complete. I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?” he asked, while opening the box. Inside was a marquise cut diamond solitaire ring, which he held out to her.

She held a shaking hand out to him and he slipped the ring on her finger as she whispered, “Yes!” 

They stood and embraced. Tears of joy coursed silently down Ginny’s cheeks. Never had she thought someone would want her for his wife and here she was in the arms of a man who seemed to love her as much as she loved him. 

She pulled back after a time and said, “I want to call my parents and tell them we’re engaged.”

Harry smiled at her. “I think your bag is still in the library. Want me to get it?”

“Yes, please.”

Her fiancé— oh, how she loved that word! —hurried away up the stairs and again, Ginny caught the susurration that seemed like conversation, this time with Harry’s excited whisper added to the mix. She turned to the window and gazed out at the street, still too amazed to wonder about animated portraits.

“Here you go,” Harry said, handing her the handbag.

Ginny thanked him and dug out her mobile, tapped a button to wake it up and waited for the home screen to appear. Nothing happened, the battery, it seemed, was dead. She frowned because she knew she had charged the phone on her way back from Devon. She sighed in disappointment. Harry looked up at her.

“The battery’s dead and the only charger I have with me is the one in my car,” she said.

“Do you want to take it out there to charge it?” Harry asked.

Ginny shook her head. “No. It’s too cold. I’ll need to charge my phone inside where it’s warm,” she said. “Besides, the plugs that connect to the electricity are different for the car and wall outlets. You know that.”

“Sorry, I don’t. I don’t own a mobile or a car,” Harry said apologetically. He was silent for a moment, then, looking thoughtful, he asked, “May I suggest something?”

Ginny nodded.

“Let’s keep this to ourselves for a day, make it special just for us. Then, tomorrow, you call them from your flat after you’ve charged your mobile,” he suggested.

“I was going to call them tomorrow anyway, so I like your plan,” she said, still mulling over the fact that Harry didn’t own a telephone of any sort.

Harry took the phone from her and put it back in her handbag. “What do you want to do now that we’ve agreed to delay spreading the news for a while?” he asked, coming back over and putting his arms around her waist.

“You don’t have any Christmas biscuits in the house, Harry. Let’s bake some,” she suggested. “I have the recipes for my mother’s chocolate shortbread and ginger biscuits memorized. How do those sound?”

Harry chuckled. “Heavenly. I hope I have the ingredients. Let’s go down and look in my pantry.”

It turned out that he did have the ingredients and they spent a fun afternoon baking together. Baking merged into making dinner and before she knew it, it was time for her to go back to her flat.

“Drive safely,” Harry cautioned as Ginny told him to “Sleep well.” They shared a laugh before he kissed her one last time. The drive home took only minutes and as soon as she was inside, she plugged in her phone. It had only a one-percent charge left, which was why it had shut down. She hoped that there was nothing wrong with the phone that a good charge wouldn’t remedy.

The next morning, her mother called, and Ginny smiled as she answered: the battery seemed to be fine. “Happy Boxing Day,” she greeted her mother.

“I couldn’t reach you all day yesterday,” her mother began without preamble. “You were so upset when you left. I was worried.”

“I’m all right, Mum,” Ginny soothed. “I went straight to Harry’s and spent the night at his house. I left my phone in my car and it froze and shut down. That’s why you couldn’t reach me.”

“Did you have a good day yesterday?” her mother asked, changing the subject. 

Did I ever! Ginny thought, but kept it to herself. “We did. We dug out my car, had breakfast, opened presents —thank you for the beautiful jumper, by the way— and then spent the afternoon baking biscuits. It was a different way to celebrate the day than I’m used to, but the memories are just as good. 

“Did George use the instructions to put the activity jumper together?” she asked, changing the subject.

Her mother laughed. “Of course not! All of your brothers sat down on the floor and suddenly there were pieces and nuts and bolts all over everywhere. Liam kept handing Bill bits and bobs he didn’t need, trying to be helpful, and Damian swallowed a nut before Olivia could get it away from him. We needed you there to assure her and Charlie that all would be well and to look for it in his nappies.”

“How long did it take before Dad handed George the instructions?” 

Her mother giggled. “He waited a full two hours before he brandished them in front of George’s nose, gathered everything into separate piles and had the thing together in twenty minutes!”

“Oh, I wish I’d been there to see it,” Ginny chortled.

“You don’t have to wish, dear,” her mother said. “Mia caught the whole episode on video. Her phone has the most marvellous camera on it and every so often, she’d take a few seconds of video and narrate it so the viewer would know a little about what was going on. She somehow spliced them all together using your dad’s computer and made a five-minute video, which she put on a new website called Your Tube or some such. I’ll show it to you the next time you’re here.”

“I’d love to see it, Mum,” Ginny said. “Er, when does everyone go home?”

“Let’s see… George and Charlotte thought they were leaving this morning, but decided to stay another more night with the rest of the family. Are you thinking of bringing Harry down?” her mother asked.

“I was thinking we’d take the train, if someone could pick us up at the station in Exeter. Would someone be able to rescue us?” Ginny asked.

“That’s a splendid idea! Call us with the time your train gets in and we’ll meet you,” her mother said, sounding quite pleased. “Oh, it’ll be so good to see you again. You sound happy.”

“I am happy, Mum. OK. I’ll call you with our arrival time when I know it,” Ginny said. “See you soon.”

They hung up and Ginny slipped her phone back in her handbag just as her doorbell rang. She opened the door to admit Harry.

“I just talked to Mum,” Ginny told him after they greeted each other non-verbally. “She wants us to stay overnight. You won’t mind sleeping on the sofa?”

Harry grinned. “The sofa will be fine. When is the next train?”

They consulted Ginny’s timetable. 

“I’d better go home and pack,” Harry said, getting up and kissing Ginny’s temple. “I’ll be back here in forty minutes.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

*

Harry nearly sprinted back to Grimmauld Place. As soon as he entered the house, he made a bee line to the kitchen fireplace. Grabbing his bowl of Floo powder, he tossed some in and yelled, “Hermione’s Grange!”

“Harry! What on earth?” Hermione exclaimed when she answered on her end. “I just got up.”

“Hermione, I proposed! Ginny said yes, and we’re going down to Devon by train in a couple of hours. I wanted you to know,” Harry said breathlessly.

“You what?” Hermione asked. “Are you insane? Does she know you’re a wizard?”

“I proposed, I’m as sane as I ever was, and no, she doesn’t know I’m a wizard. It’s that stupid Statute of Secrecy,” Harry explained, feeling exasperated. “I need to tell Ginny, but I don’t know if I can tell her before we’re married or if I have to wait until the deed is done. Do you know?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

“Would you research it for me, please?” Harry pleaded. “You’re the one with the connections to wizarding law.”

“Yes, I’ll look into it. In the meantime, don’t do anything stupid,” she said, sounding annoyed.

“How would I do that? I haven’t carried my wand for nearly two years!” Harry exclaimed.

“You could say something. She could see your magical portraits. She’s certainly going to wonder about the lack of electricity in your house and what might happen to her mobile.” She stopped. “Harry… has she seen Sirius, your parents and Remus and Tonks move?”

Harry felt faint. “Possibly,” he said, drawing out the word. “She showed up about ten o’clock on Christmas Eve really upset about something and spent the night. I hadn’t taken the portraits down yet and they wanted to know who she was. I think she suspects something.”

Hermione covered her eyes with a hand and Harry could hear her counting. He waited patiently for her to speak. “All right, what’s done is done,” she finally said. “Congratulations, by the way. I hope Ginny takes the news that you’re a wizard well. I’d hate to find out what the withdrawal of her affections would do to you. So, yes, I will sort through the laws to help you tell Ginny you’re a wizard.”

“You’re wonderful, Hermione,” Harry said. “Thank you. I’d better go. I need to pack and get back to Ginny’s.”

His last glimpse of his friend as he withdrew his head from her fireplace was of her shaking her head and looking decidedly worried.

*

The train ride to Devon was a pleasant interlude. Harry, who had only ever ridden on the Hogwarts Express and the train to Nottingham, let Ginny lead him through the station and deal with their tickets.

As they boarded, Ginny turned to Harry and said, “I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t get us seats with a table. We’re sitting side by side because the trip is short and not having a table is a bit more economical.”

Harry smiled at her and said, “As long as I’m with you, and you’re happy, I’m happy, too.”

Ginny found their seats and sat down. “I’m glad you agree with me.”

“Do you want to see how long it takes your mum to notice your ring or do you want to announce our engagement as soon as we walk in the door?” Harry asked.

Ginny thought about it, her head tilted to one side. “Let’s see who notices first. It’s the sort of thing we do in my family all the time,” she answered, shifting the box containing some of the biscuits they’d baked yesterday to the space under her seat with her handbag.

They chatted for the rest of the journey and disembarked at the Exeter station. A cry of “Ginny!” caught their attention and Harry was the first to see a tall, ginger-haired man frantically waving at his fiancée. 

“Percy!” she cried, running towards him. Harry followed and stood a few feet away from the siblings as they hugged in greeting.

Eventually, Ginny pulled away and turned to Harry. “Harry, I’d like you to meet my brother, Percy. Percy, this is Harry Potter,” she said, rather formally.

A moment later, Percy stuck out his hand. As they shook, Percy said rather stiffly, “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr Potter. Have you been to Devonshire before?”

“Only once, earlier this month when Ginny brought me down to meet your parents,” Harry informed him.

“Ah, yes, they did mention meeting you,” Percy said as they reached his car. He opened the boot and Harry and Ginny put their bags and the box of biscuits inside.

The ride to the farm took about forty-five minutes and as they exited the car, Percy asked, “Are you two hungry? Mum started cooking as soon as she put down the phone this morning.”

“I knew she’d do that, so I didn’t have breakfast,” Ginny said. “Harry?”

“Just a couple of eggs,” he answered. “Your mum sounds like the sort who welcomes people with food.”

“That she does,” Percy agreed and led them into the house.

No one noticed Ginny’s ring in the hubbub of greetings and introductions. Harry noticed that she was having a hard time not saying “fiancé”, instead hesitating a fraction of a second and then calling him her friend. It didn’t take long for the women to separate from the men to go finish the meal, so Harry kept an ear out for the feminine shriek that was sure to come when Ginny’s mum discovered her ring. In the meantime, her father managed to catch Harry’s eye across the living room and raise an eyebrow. Harry nodded and Mr Weasley shot Harry a small, approving smile.

The conversation amongst the men was varied and interesting and Harry learned that Bill worked for Barclay’s, Percy was a speech writer for the Prime Minister, and George was thinking of opening a second joke shop and was the main prankster of the family. When asked about his profession, Harry framed his answer so that the brothers thought he’d been in the Army, stationed somewhere in the Middle East before he was injured.

“I can’t really talk about it,” he told the men truthfully. “I know it’s been over two years since I was discharged, but I’m not allowed —” He broke off as the expected shriek of joy emanated from the kitchen.

“What the hell was that?” George demanded as he left his chair, followed by his brothers.

The scene that greeted the men was one of happy chaos. All the women were gathered around Ginny and her mum who were hugging fiercely in the middle of the room.

“What’s going on?” Bill asked his wife.

“Harry asked Ginny to marry him yesterday,” Jeannine announced. “Her ring in simply exquisite!”

George slapped Harry on the back. “You sly dog!” he crowed. “I never thought Ginny would let anyone get under her skin, but obviously you have. Congratulations, mate!” 

Bill came over and shook Harry’s hand. “Welcome to the family, Harry. It’s nice to know there’s a new test subject for George’s latest practical joke products in our little group.”

Percy added his agreement, “Just watch out for anything George hands you. It will probably make you do something embarrassing.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Harry said appreciatively.

Ginny came over and gave Harry a kiss. “Dinner’s ready. Mum discovered my ring after we’d plated everything, thank goodness,” she laughed.

She led him to the table and sat down at one of the middle seats, the others filling in, with George sliding into the seat next to Harry at the last moment, his son in his arms. The meal was warm and filling from the Shephard’s Pie and with homemade bread rolls and fruit compote to the treacle tart with raspberry sauce and after-dinner coffee. Harry ate more than he should have, but the feeling of being accepted into this wonderful family filled him with a happiness he hadn’t known in a long time and he could feel a little of Voldemort’s spell melt inside him.

“Where’d you go?” Ginny asked, poking him in the side with her elbow. 

“Wool-gathering. I was thinking how nice it is to be accepted so readily into your family,” Harry answered. “I haven’t felt like this in a very long time. Not since I met Hermione’s parents.”

Ginny squeezed his hand. “I’m glad we make you feel this way, Harry,” she said just as Harry let out a loud belch.

A little way down the table Tory giggled behind her hand and Liam snorted into his pudding. Harry belched again. Suddenly, he didn’t feel so well. He belched a third time, then a fourth.

“George Weasley! What have you done to Harry?” Mrs Weasley demanded from the head of the table.

George looked surprised. “Why would I do anything to Harry?” he asked.

“Because you handed me a cup of coffee and said, ‘Give this one to Harry. He asked for sugar,’” Charlotte said. “I should have known you’d put something in his cup. What is it?”

“Belching powder,” George said sheepishly, glancing at his wife.

Charlotte looked disgusted as she asked, “When will you grow up?”

George shrugged.

Harry belched again and groaned as his stomach did an unpleasant flipflop.

“How long does this last?” Ginny demanded. “And is there an antidote?”

“Twenty to thirty minutes depending on how much is put in the drink,” George answered, “and there isn’t an antidote yet. It has to wear off.”

Harry groaned and belched twice. “How much did you put in my coffee?” he asked.

“A big pinch,” George answered.

“George Weasley, you’re sleeping on the sofa tonight!” Charlotte exclaimed.

“I guess I’m sleeping on the floor,” Harry sighed and belched again.

“I’ll go make up the bed in Ron’s old room,” Ginny said. “Dad converted it to his computer room, but there’s a bed in there just in case. I just hope Dad hasn’t used it as a table again.” She looked up at her father who indicated he’d come with her.

“Harry, dear, are you feeling sick? We could try some tea with lemon. That might make the belching stop,” Mrs Weasley offered.

Harry belched again before answering. “I’ll try anything at this point,” he said, giving George his best glare. “Thank you.” He stood to follow her over to the workbench, carrying his and Ginny’s dessert plates.

The lemon in his tea helped. “How did you know what to offer me?” he asked as he dried a pot and put it near the Aga for Percy to put away.

“Basic chemistry, dear, and a lifetime of George and Fred’s practical jokes,” Mrs Weasley said with a smile.

“I’ll count myself lucky that you knew what might help. Thank you,” Harry told her gratefully.

“All in a day’s work,” she smiled and went back to washing dishes.

After the kitchen was cleaned up, Harry wandered into the living room since Ginny was still upstairs with her father. Bill and Jeannine were also upstairs putting Tory and Liam to bed, as was Charlotte. George was sitting in front of the fireplace staring at the black pieces of a chess set. He looked up as Harry entered.

“Harry, I apologize for pranking you at dinner,” he said, sounding sincere.

“Apology accepted,” Harry quickly answered. He gestured to the chess set. “Do you play?”

“We all do,” George answered. “Fred was always better than me. Percy, Bill and Charlie play a fair game, but it was always Ron who could out-play the lot of us. Ginny’s pretty good for a girl, we used to say, too. When we were younger, if we added the part about being a girl, Ginny would retaliate by winning the game in less than fifteen minutes.”

Harry smiled. “I can see her doing something like that,” he said. “White or black?”

Their colours chosen, they began to play, Harry enjoying the challenge of having to physically move his pieces around the board. I’ve grown soft playing wizard’s chess with Neville and Seamus, he thought at one point when he nearly told one of his pawns to move to a certain square.

“You’re quite good,” George said as Ginny joined them at the table.

“I’ve played a lot of games in the last eighteen months,” Harry admitted. “It was one of the few activities I could do for prolonged periods of time after I was released from hospital. I’m lucky I have several friends who play.”

“We’ll have to get a tournament going sometime,” George said. “When we did that as kids, the prize was getting out of doing chores for a certain period of time.”

“Sounds like that was a popular prize,” Harry commented.

“Oh, it was,” Ginny piped up. “That’s why I studied and practiced the game so much!”

“Now she confesses!” exclaimed George.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly until Arthur and Molly announced they were going to bed. “Don’t stay up too late,” Mrs Weasley cautioned as her children chorused their good-nights.

Charlotte stood up and poked George in the shoulder. “Your blankets and pillow are in the hall cupboard, dear,” she said sweetly.

George groaned, caught Harry’s eye and mouthed, “Sorry,” again.

“Come on, Harry,” Ginny said, taking his hand. “I’ll show you where Ron used to sleep.”

He followed her and was pleasantly surprised to find that the door to her childhood bedroom was across from the room that had been made up for him.

“If you have a nightmare,” Ginny whispered as they kissed good-night, “you know where to find me now.”

“That I do,” Harry said with a smile as he opened his door. “Good night, my love.”

He was certain that with as accepted as he was feeling tonight, he would not have a difficult night. And true to his prediction, he was up early with the rest of the family who taught him how to do a few easy chores to help with the morning routine with the animals. Breakfast was a raucous affair with the brothers trying to out-do each other with tales from their childhood. Harry sat back in his chair and basked in the happy banter around him until Ginny leaned over and told him it was time to leave for their train home.

“Come again soon, Harry,” Mrs Weasley said as she hugged him good-bye.

“I’ll only come if Ginny does,” Harry told her with a smile.

“Then make sure she takes the time off due to her so she can visit more often than every six months,” said Mrs Weasley with a wink at her daughter.

“You can count on it,” Harry said and let Ginny tow him out the door toward Bill’s car.


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny learns magic is real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last few weeks nearly every review has asked me, “When will Harry tell Ginny about magic being real?” I’ve answered, “In the next couple of chapters,” and left it at that. We have now reached the point in the story where Harry reveals his identity as a wizard and you can learn what Ginny’s reaction is.
> 
> Many thanks to Melindaleo, Mutt n Feathers, Brennus, and Cackling Stump. These four editors have taken my rough drafts and helped me bash them into shape with their questions, comments and encouragement.
> 
> Finally, thank you, thank you, thank you to those who voted for my story in the SIYE Silver Trinket Awards. I about fell over when I discovered A Time for Healing placed first for Best New Story and Best Romance in the May 2020 voting. I appreciate, too, everyone who reviews the story. I always write back, so you won’t be left hanging, wondering if I value your opinion.

Chapter Ten  
Hermione was frustrated. Every scroll and law book she had consulted was bereft of information about when a witch or wizard could tell their intended or spouse about magic. She’d come across many references to rules and reasons for not telling them, but the specific clause she needed was nowhere to be found. Therefore, she finally went to a friend who worked in the Wizengamot Administration Services office with her problem.

“So, you’re seeking an answer for a friend who wants to marry a Muggle?” Glenda asked. “Why would he want to do that?”

“He says she makes him feel complete. He really does seem to love her,” Hermione said, letting her annoyance show. “I’d say it was a load of tosh, but when you see them together, you know it isn’t.”

“All right, then. As far as I know, the only time it’s completely legal to tell a Muggle about magic is when it’s a Hogwarts teacher informing Muggle parents that their child is magical,” Glenda said.

“You mean to tell me that it’s illegal to tell your spouse or intended that you’re a witch or wizard?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, but there is a loophole,” said Glenda. “If the Muggle sees magical things in his or her intended’s flat or house and asks about them, the wizard is free to tell her. Unfortunately, most of the time, the witch or wizard is not believed.”

Hermione sighed. “I was afraid of that,” she said. “Then what?”

“If your friend has already married this woman and he tells her after the wedding and she doesn’t accept magic is real, she can divorce him, since their ceremony was civil and the couple wasn’t bonded. If they’ve somehow been magically bonded, they’re stuck with each other for life,” Glenda said cynically. “Most bonded couples just opt for living apart.” 

“Is there anything else I should know?” Hermione asked, feeling sick.

“Just hope your friend’s fiancée is open-minded enough to accept magic and that he hasn’t married her yet,” was Glenda’s last advice. “If they aren’t married, they should part ways. Either way, the Muggle needs to be Obliviated.”

With a sigh, Hermione thanked Glenda and went back to her office. She was so shocked by Glenda’s news that she hadn’t had the courage to ask her about what happens when a mixed-magic couple had a child who started doing accidental magic at a young age, much less when the child received his or her Hogwarts letter. No matter what, Harry wasn’t going to like what she had to report.

*

Harry hadn’t seen Hermione since he’d poked his head into her fireplace on Boxing Day and it was now the third of January. In the meantime, he and Ginny had spent a quiet evening celebrating the old year and ringing in the new one on New Year’s Eve. They’d only had one blip in their evening and that had been when Harry could find only three good batteries rather than four to power the remote control for his DVD player. They’d solved the problem by manually pushing the buttons on the player. Ginny had been fascinated that neither the telly nor the player was plugged into the wall, but still worked: Harry didn’t tell her that this second piece of machinery had been charmed and installed by Hermione after she’d been successful with charming the telly nor did he tell her the house had no electrical outlets. Instead, he explained that both machines were “experimental” and had their own power sources.

Now, he was up especially early because Hermione had sent an owl saying that she would be coming over before going to the Ministry to tell him what she’d learned. Harry was nervous, mostly because he thought he already knew the answer to the questions he’d asked Hermione to research. 

The kitchen fire suddenly glowed green and a second later, Hermione stepped out, carrying a Muggle briefcase and wearing a smart set of work robes that resembled a Muggle business suit.

“Coffee?” Harry inquired, holding up the pot.

“Yes, please,” she exclaimed, setting her briefcase on the table and joining Harry at the worktop.

He handed her a steaming mug and pushed the sugar bowl and cream pitcher in her direction. She added liberal amounts of both before she took her first sip and sighed happily.

“Breakfast,” she explained between sips. “Didn’t have time for it this morning. Oh, don’t bother making me anything…” She trailed off as Harry set a small paper sack in front of her.

“Homemade granola squares,” he explained. “Ginny taught me how to make them. If you’ve got meetings today this will be easy to snack on as you go from one office to another.” He watched as she opened the sack and pulled out a bite-sized square. “The recipe called for rolled oats, dried fruit, almonds, and chocolate pieces. Try it, you’ll like it.”

Hermione giggled. “You sound like a television commercial.”

Harry shrugged. “I admit to watching a lot of television in the last year, thanks to you,” he said. “Maybe the adverts have started rubbing off on me.”

“Harry, these are really good. Can I take the bag with me?” Hermione asked, sounding hopeful.

“Only if you tell me why you wanted to see me this morning instead of just saying whatever you have to say in a letter,” Harry replied.

Hermione retrieved her briefcase, put the paper sack inside and locked it before saying, “It’s pretty much what I thought. There are all sorts of laws, regulations, stipulations, and guidelines for not telling a Muggle you’re wizard, but the only time it’s legal to tell someone about magic is if you’re a Hogwarts teacher informing a parent that their child is magical and that you are a representative of the school who has come to help the family with the child’s schooling decisions.”

Harry groaned. “I thought so, too. Did any of your books or scrolls tell you what to do if the Muggle starts asking about magic?”

“There is a loophole that allows you to talk about magic, if the Muggle asks first,” Hermione told him. “It’s when you start performing spells in front of a random Muggle that you get in trouble. However, this house is so well hidden that everyday spells won’t be detected at all. I think you getting into trouble for doing magic that summer had more to do with Dolores Umbridge than anything else.”

“I remember,” Harry said, thinking back to the summer before his fifth year. “I think Umbridge was looking for any possible offense so she could justify snapping my wand. The crime of performing magic in front of a Muggle didn’t make much sense since Dudley already knew about magic.” He sighed, then asked, “So what do you recommend? Do I just let Ginny ask about the strange things she sees here on her own, or do I tell her I’m a wizard and hope I won’t get in trouble with the Ministry?” He stopped, then said regretfully, “Unfortunately, Madam Pomfrey would have my head if I started doing magic before she says I can.”

“Harry, if you want my opinion, the safest thing to do is let Ginny ask, I think. That way, you’re not forcing something on her that she’s not ready to accept,” Hermione said. “But I have to warn you, if she doesn’t accept that magic is real, she will need to be Obliviated.” Harry scowled, even though he knew she was right. “I know that isn’t what you want,” she continued, “but it has to be done. It would probably be best if I am around when you tell her so I can do that if necessary.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve gotta go. Please don’t do anything rash, Harry. I know you want Ginny to know you’re a wizard, but let her come to you. And when she does, contact me so I can be there to help you explain.”

Harry scowled, turning back to the Aga to pour himself another cup of coffee as he muttered, “Not bloody likely.”

Apparently, Hermione didn’t hear him. She grabbed her briefcase, kissed Harry lightly on the cheek and headed up the stairs to the entrance hall. Harry was halfway up the stairs when he heard the front door close and Hermione’s parting “pop” as she Apparated away.

Harry stood on the stairs contemplating what his next move would be. As he considered Ginny, he concluded that she would have an open mind and would embrace the idea of magic. She loves me; there’s no reason to wait. Then, smiling to himself, he climbed up to his bedroom, opened his wardrobe and rummaged through his old Hogwarts trunk: at the bottom, wrapped in his old Quidditch jersey, was his box from Ollivander’s. Lifting the lid, he gazed lovingly at his wand. If there was anything that defined who he really was, it was this wand. Oh, how he longed to touch it, but Madam Pomfrey had told him it was still too early for even handling it because of the powerful connection between the wand and its wizard. 

With his idea firmly in mind, he closed the box and sifted through the rest of the trunk, extracting a few photographs, the album Hagrid given him at the end of his first year and a Hogwarts banner. He taped the banner on the back of the bedroom door, then took the photos, the album and his wand box to the library where he propped the photos above the fireplace and displayed his wand on a pen stand he found in his desk. The album he centred on the pouf. His stage was set. If Ginny didn’t ask about the magical objects this coming Saturday when she came for dinner, he decided that he was just going to tell her. She needed to know and he wasn’t going to keep who he really was a secret from her any longer.

*

The doorbell rang right on time on Saturday evening. Harry opened the door to see Ginny standing there in her nurse’s scrubs, holding a small case. She looked exhausted and in need of an immediate hug. As soon as she crossed the threshold, he administered his remedy for tiredness. Ginny snuggled into his hug, dropping her handbag and case on the floor with a thud.

“Long day?” he asked.

Ginny nodded on his shoulder. “You have no idea. We have a new patient, a teenaged boy who was hurt in a motorcycle accident,” she said. “He’s angry at the world right now and he refuses to stay in bed. I found him on the bathroom floor after he tried to help himself and he got as far as one of the waiting rooms before he collapsed a second time. He reminds me of Fred a little — stubborn, determined — but Fred was always cheerful when he escaped to the paediatric floor. This kid is just surly. The matron assigned me full time guard duty so that every time he escaped, I had to run after him today!”

“Are you his minder forever?” Harry asked.

“Thank goodness, no. The matron assigned each of the ward’s nurses a day of the week to mind him for as long as he’s with us. My day is Saturday,” Ginny explained.

“Why don’t they restrain him or put him in a room with a locked door?” Harry asked. “That’s what the hea—doctors did with me at one point.”

Ginny made a derisive noise. “And violate the patient’s rights? Ha! How can you suggest such a thing? I wish we could restrain him. He hurts himself every time he leaves his bed,” she said, “but tying him down would be too traumatic the little darling and violate his right to freedom. Besides, the matron thinks we nurses need some extra exercise! As if!” She yawned.

“Why don’t you go up and change,” Harry suggested. “Tea downstairs or in the library when you’re ready?” 

“Library… and if you have any of that cognac left, put a slug of it in my cup!” Gin suggested while extracting herself from Harry’s embrace.

Harry handed her bags to her. “See you in a few,” he said and made his way to the kitchen stairs. He paused at the top and listened hard. It wasn’t long before he heard Sirius murmur, “Hello, Ginny.” Ginny’s footsteps paused, then resumed their steady pace upwards as she replied, “Hello,” back. Harry went down to prepare their tea.

He found Ginny lounging on the library sofa when he brought up the tea tray. She was staring at the new photographs he had put on the mantle with an expression that Harry had come to identify as her “puzzling” face. He set the tray on the pouf and went to his liquor shelf to get the cognac. On the way back, he took a photo off the mantel and handed it to Ginny. 

“That’s Dean Thomas, the football nut I went to school with. I told you about him at the Arsenal game we went to,” he told her as he poured a small amount of the cognac in Ginny’s mug, then added tea to the brim and put it on the end table next to her.

“Harry, does the photograph move?” she asked. “I could have sworn Dean was moving when you handed me the picture.”

Harry looked over her shoulder at the picture. In it, Dean had frozen holding the ball at chest height with a look on his face that seemed to be asking Harry if he could move. Harry nodded and Dean resumed tossing the ball and catching it repeatedly, the way he always had in life. Colin Creevey had done a great job capturing their friend that last September they were at Hogwarts as he once again attempted to explain his favourite game to a bunch of Quidditch fanatics.

Ginny dropped the photo. “What the hell?” she exclaimed. “Dean’s tossing the football!” She picked it up again, looking at it from all sides. “I’ve heard about digital frames before, but this one is remarkable. Are all of the electronics in the paper? Where did you get it?”

Harry sat down next to her, sipping his own tea. “Most of my photographs move,” he said, reaching for the album that sat next to the tea tray. “These are the only photographs of my parents I have and they all move. Want to see?”

Ginny shook her head. “Not yet. I need to wrap my head around the fact that a photograph on a piece of paper can move without the benefit of any visible batteries or solar panels to power the animation,” she said shakily.

Harry sat back against the sofa cushions, watching Ginny. He hoped she was open to the idea of magic. The fact that she was sitting quietly and hadn’t left was, perhaps, a good sign. He exhaled when she reached for the photo album. She opened the leather cover and stared at the first page, then closed the book and inspected the cover and spine just like she did with the photograph. 

“Trust me, Ginny,” Harry teased, “you won’t find any power source.”

Giving up her search, she started paging through the album, Harry pointing out his parents and their friends.

“They’re so young!” she exclaimed as she gazed at the last few photos that included some of Harry as a toddler playing with his parents and the rest of the Marauders. There was even one of Harry flying on a toy broom around his father’s legs. Ginny lingered on this one longer than she had the others.

“They were twenty-one when they died,” Harry told her.

“You told me they died young, but you never told me how they died.”

This was it. Once he told her about Voldemort and his Killing Curse, she would either accept him and his magic or she wouldn’t. “It was a magic spell called the Killing Curse, cast by a wizard named Lord Voldemort, that killed them, Ginny,” he said softly. “You see, Dad was a wizard, Mum a witch, and so were Professor McGonagall, Sirius, Remus and Tonks. I’m a wizard, too.”

Ginny set the album on the floor next to the sofa. “You’re kidding me. Did George put you up to this? 

“No, it’s true.”

“You actually believe your parents were a witch and wizard? You really believe they were killed by a magic spell?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes, I do,” Harry said levelly, “because I fought Voldemort for more than five years before we duelled for the final time two and a half years ago. The wars with him and his Death Eaters killed so many good magical people; my parents, Sirius, Remus and Tonks, Professor McGonagall were among the unlucky ones who fought and died so that good would triumph over evil. The Dark wizards and witches brought out the ugliness in people because of greed and a superiority complex that puts some of what non-magical people do to each other look like child’s play. They wanted to take over the magical world just like Hitler wanted to rule Europe during the Second World War.

“But that’s not the type of magic I want to show you,” he continued as Ginny opened her mouth to say something. “The magic that makes photos and portraits move powers a lot of things in this house. The Aga down in the kitchen stays warm because of magic, not gas piped into the house. I’ve recuperated much faster than I should have because of magic potions. Broken dishes repair themselves with a simple spell. My favourite sport is Quidditch, which is played on brooms, and is made possible by all sorts of magical enchantments. Ginny, I am a wizard. I went to school in Scotland to learn all about magic at the age of eleven.” He grabbed her hands and stared into her eyes. “Please, Ginny, I need you to believe me.”

Ginny had sat quietly while he spoke, but pulled her hands from his before responding. Now she said, “That’s a lovely story, Harry, but I think you’re either lying or delusional. Show me something to prove what you are claiming.”

Harry pointed to his wand. “That’s the wand I’ve used since my eleventh birthday. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for that wand. It kept me safe all through those dark years I was fighting Voldemort.”

Ginny stood up and went over to examine the wand. “Can I pick it up?” she asked.

“Sure, but I doubt it will do anything,” he said. 

She wrapped her hand around the handle. “It’s certainly well used,” she said critically, while examining the worn wood. She held it out to him. “Do a spell. Maybe I’ll believe you easier.”

“Ginny, I can’t,” Harry sighed as he put his hands in his pockets. “I’m not supposed to use it until Madam Pomfrey, my Healer, says I can. Not performing magic is part of my recovery.”

“Convenient,” she said sceptically. “Then show me something I can understand,” she demanded.

“Leave my wand here,” Harry requested, and Ginny put it on the tea tray. “Let’s go talk to my parents and the other portraits.”

Out in the stairwell, Harry addressed the portraits. “Mum, Dad, Sirius, Ginny thinks I’m fanaticizing about being a wizard. Tell her I’m not pranking her.”

His dad spoke first. “Harry is not—”

“Portraits that talk and move? Very clever, Harry. You must have some very sophisticated electronics hidden in the frames if they can carry on a conversation with someone,” she cut in.

“Ginny, we’re not made of electronic hocus pocus,” Remus said. “Please believe us when we tell you that every one of us was magical. Harry is a wizard.”

Ginny stepped forward and took Sirius’ portrait off the wall. She turned it over so the back faced upward, running her fingers over the seams of the frame and inserting her fingernails into any cracks or crevices she found. Sirius moved into James and Lily’s frame, holding his head. When she couldn’t find what she was looking for, Ginny fished her phone out of her pocket and tried to turn on the torch function. Nothing happened. 

“My phone’s dead again!” she exclaimed angrily. “What is it about this house that kills batteries?”

“It’s the centuries of magic that permeates the walls, Ginny,” Lily said quietly. “Sirius’ family lived here for over two hundred years. The walls absorbed the magical energy that powered their spells. Part of the compulsion to leave that you feel when you try to access the house is magic in the walls protecting the inhabitants.”

“OK, but what about the telly and the DVD player? You said the other day that they had specially batteries that powered them.” Ginny asked. “How do they run?”

“Magic,” all six portraits chorused. Ginny jumped when she realized Sirius had spoken to her from another frame. She looked repeatedly between the frame in her hands and the one on the wall.

“There’s no electricity in the house,” Harry said quietly.

Ginny handed the frame to him and went back into the library. Harry followed her, leaning Sirius’ frame against the sofa. Ginny was inspecting the wires connecting the DVD player to the telly. “So, these two machines have been enchanted to work while surrounded by magic?” she asked sceptically. “Why not enchant the remotes?”

“Hermione tried, but couldn’t get her spells to work,” Harry explained. “We think the remotes are just too small to handle the magic needed to power them. That’s why I go through so many batteries. The magic in the house drains them. Hermione brings new ones every time she comes over.”

“Is that what happens to my phone?” Ginny asked.

“It is.”

“Why doesn’t the magic scramble my data or apps?”

“Your phone shuts down before that can happen because of the low battery function. The same thing happens to Hermione’s phone.”

I’m starting to wonder if this Hermione even exists,” she muttered under her breath. She looked Harry in the eyes and said, “You still haven’t shown me anything to prove the existence of magic. Everything so far could be explained by elaborate electronics.”

Thinking that he was mucking up introducing Ginny to magic, Harry beckoned her to follow him and led her into his bathroom. He opened his medicinal cupboard and pointed to the rows and rows of brightly coloured potions. “These are the potions that are helping me heal. They use my body’s magical energy to work. You’ve seen this one before.” He pointed to a row of bright blue vials; each one had “For Pain” marked on the label.

“The experimental pain killer,” Ginny scoffed, scowling. “I found that hard to believe the night we met, and I still don’t believe that all these sweet-coloured liquids will actually work. Muscle Relaxant, Strengthening Potion, Nutritional Potion, Dreamless Sleep? I suppose that one works like sleeping pills do. How are they made?”

“In cauldrons over an open flame,” Harry told her, his heart sinking with every word. “They’re made using ingredients like chopped Flobberworms, grated daisy roots, syrup of belladonna, moonstone powder, newt eyes and boomslang skin. All those ingredients and so many others have magical properties that when combined, create potions that do all sorts of things.”

Ginny laughed derisively. “You’re sounding like an alchemist in a fantasy novel! Flobberworms and boomslang skin… whoever heard of such nonsense, and frankly, belladonna is so poisonous it can kill you with a few drops! Why put poison in something that’s supposed to cure you?” Her hand swept in a graceful arch. “This is daft! For all I know, these are just coloured syrups.”

“Do I question the medicines you give your patients?” Harry demanded. “Why should I believe that a little pill will cure someone’s cancer or help them sleep? Isn’t it the same thing?”

“No, it’s not.”

“Why isn’t it the same? The form of the meds I take is different from the ones you administer, but they still do the same thing. Why is it so hard to believe? What will it take for you to accept that I’m a wizard and you’re a Muggle?” Harry cried, his voice raising. He shut the cupboard door and stepped out into the hallway again.

“Oh, that’s rich! Now you’re calling me names just because I won’t believe you,” Ginny spat as she followed him back into the library. “If you’re convinced you’re a wizard, you need a psychiatrist!”

Harry hung his head. “I already see one. She’s a mind Healer in my world.”

“She must be a crackpot, then, because she’s going along with your delusions.” Ginny took off her engagement ring. “But I won’t. I don’t want to marry someone whose mind is stuck in a fantasy world because he can’t cope with reality.”

“Ginny! I’m not insane! I’m telling the truth!”

Ginny threw the ring at him. It hit him in the dead centre of his chest and bounced in the direction of the telly. “Until you can pull your head out of the clouds, I don’t want to have any part of you or this horrible house! Good-bye!”

“Ginny, don’t go!” Harry cried, lunging toward the tea tray, his hand closing around the handle of his wand. He barely registered the warmth that spread through his hand and up his arm as he was reunited with his wand. Sparks immediately issued from its tip as Ginny hurried into his bedroom to get her things. “Don’t go! I’ll try to show you some easy spells!”

“I don’t want to have anything to do with you, Harry Potter!” she yelled as she passed the library doors.

“STOP!” Harry commanded, pointing the wand at Ginny.

She froze, her angry eyes boring into him. “Oh, now you’re going to use it? Give it your best shot, Harry. I’m still not going to believe you and I want to be as far away from you as I can possibly get!”

Tears sprang from Harry’s eyes, clouding his vision. “You get your wish,” he murmured as he raised his wand, aiming at her temple and concentrating on making Ginny think he was something other than a wizard. 

“OBLIVIATE!” he bellowed, and in a rush similar to the one that had drained his magic as he stared into Voldemort’s red eyes though a haze of pain, the spell left his wand and hit his ex-fiancée squarely between the eyes. Ginny’s eyes went glassy and she clutched the door frame.

Harry swayed where he stood and concentrated on the look in Ginny’s eyes. The thought of making her think he didn’t want children, when all he had ever wanted was a family of his own, tore at his heart. Still, he summoned the last of his strength and closed the distance between them saying, “Ginny, I’d make a terrible dad because I don’t have the references to be a good one. I’m too selfish; I’ve put all my money into refurbishing this house and what I have left isn’t enough to raise children the way you’d want. I hope you’ll understand why I don’t want children.”

“You selfish bastard!” she sobbed. “I hate you!” She started down the stairs and Harry grabbed her wrist, holding on with all his remaining strength.

“Please don’t hate me, Ginny!” he begged. “We can have a good life together without children. A family isn’t a means to happiness and fulfilment.”

Ginny struggled to shake off his grasp, not knowing that she was actually holding Harry upright. “For the last time, Harry, I want children and if you don’t want to have them with me, then it’s best of we go our separate ways. Good-bye!” She shook her arm violently, loosening his grip.

Harry let go and sank to the floor as Ginny clattered down the stairs. His vision faded and he knew no more.


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny and Molly get together, Hermione has a bad feeling, and Harry fights for his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The outpouring of opinion on last week’s chapter made me smile. Everyone who reviewed had such wonderful remarks and hopes for Harry and Ginny. After this chapter there are nine more in the story, so for those who want them to get back together, you may have to wait a while. I’d love to hear what you think about this chapter. I always write back.
> 
> To my beta readers, thank you for the time you took to read and comment on the chapter. Your suggestions always make me think about what I want to say and have the characters do and I am grateful to you.

Chapter Eleven

Ginny sped down the steps of Harry’s house trying to put as much distance between herself and that selfish man as fast as she possibly could. She couldn’t believe how stupid she was for thinking that he would want children, when he only wanted her! Their discussion about the number of children they wanted and when to start trying for them had turned nasty when Harry had told her that under no circumstances did he want children. Now, she couldn’t get away from him fast enough, so she ran all the way back to her flat.

Her phone rang as she let herself in. She fumbled it out of her handbag and tapped the screen, immediately noticing that the battery had almost no charge. Her mother was calling as she had promised, but Ginny couldn’t remember why.

Taking a deep breath and hoping to sound normal, Ginny answered, “Hello, Mum.”

Her mother inhaled sharply. “Ginny, are you all right?”

“Whatever makes you think that, Mum?” Ginny asked, knowing her mother knew her too well to know when she was lying. 

“You sound like you’ve been crying. Did something happen?” her mother asked.

“Oh, Mum…” was all Ginny could say before the sobs took over.

“Ginny… _Ginny_ , do you need me to come over?” 

“You’re so far away…”

“Not tonight, sweetie. Remember that your father and I are staying at Percy and Mia’s because we went to a matinee showing of _Mama Mia!_ at The Prince of Wales Theatre today? I can be with you in thirty minutes,” her mother said.

“Oh, Mum, you’ll come?”

“You need me, love. Put the kettle on and we’ll have a that mother/daughter chat we missed out on at Christmas.”

All Ginny could do was sob into the phone. She didn’t even notice when her mother broke the connection.

The kettle was just coming to a boil when her doorbell rang. Ginny took the few extra seconds to turn down the cooker before she answered. Her mother stood on the doorstep and as soon as Ginny let her in, she was engulfed on the most wonderful hug she’d had in ages. The familiar scent of her mother’s perfume took her back fifteen years to a time when everything could be made better with a hug from Mum.

“Ginny, what happened? Why are you crying?” her mother asked without letting go.

“Harry doesn’t want children, Mum,” Ginny wailed. “We were holding what I thought was a genial discussion about them when he told me he didn’t want to be a father! We started arguing and one thing led to another and now I’m not engaged any more, Mum. We’re just too different! I threw his ring at him and got the hell out of his house! I never want to see him again!”

The hug tightened again and this time, Ginny felt her own shoulder getting wet. “You did the right thing, Ginny. You come from a family that reveres their children. If you married a man who doesn’t value children the way you do, who doesn’t want them, then both of you will by unhappy from the start.”

“I know, but it still hurts,” Ginny sobbed. She took a step back and reached for the tissue box that sat on the table under the window. 

Her mother let go and draped her coat over a chair. “I hear the kettle grumbling. Shall I make tea? You look like you need some.”

“The teapot’s ready,” Ginny sniffed. “All you need to do is pour in the water.”

“Have a seat, love. I’ll be back in three ticks.”

The two Weasley women talked long into the night and towards morning, Ginny texted her father that her mum would be back at Percy’s for breakfast. They’d had an awful lot to talk about.

*****

Hermione felt very unsettled. It wasn’t until she thought about the progression of events over the last seventy-two hours that she finally suspected she knew something was truly amiss. The first unusual occurrence had been the unsuccessful delivery of a note via her owl, Austen. Austen had successfully delivered many notes to Harry at Grimmauld Place in the past year, so when the owl returned with Hermione’s note still attached to her leg—twice!—she decided that Harry was with his Muggle girlfriend and wasn’t answering his mail. 

When owl post failed to get Harry’s attention, Hermione had impatiently Floo called him. She tried four or five times, but every time she stuck her head in the fire, Harry’s Floo would admit her head so she could call out to him, but nothing happened. Usually, when Harry was home, he almost always came clattering down the kitchen stairs when she bellowed his name. This time, when she’d made her calls, each an hour apart, but he hadn’t answered. There was a simple explanation for that, she told herself: he was still out with Ginny. She tried one last time before she turned in for the night on the second day, but when Harry didn’t answer her call, she gave it up as a bad job and went to bed. The next morning, she was up early to make one last Floo call before going to work. This time, when Harry didn’t respond, she became concerned, but not enough to disrespect his right to privacy.

Still, something about Harry’s silence bothered her and she wondered if she should just stop by his house after work. It would be easy enough Apparate to the top step at the front door and knock; she didn’t have to appear in his entrance hall or on the basement stairs as she had done in the first weeks he was home from hospital and she was supposed to look in on him. Besides, if Ginny was with him, knocking was the best way to not startle a Muggle. Her plan of action decided upon, she went about her day.

Finally, at five o’clock, an unusual time for her to leave her desk these days, Hermione joined the exodus of Ministry workers filing towards the Atrium. She waved to several of her friends and then took her turn Disapparating, materializing on Harry’s front doorstep. She knocked. She waited, then knocked again. When she knocked a third time and still didn’t get a response, she decided to walk towards the house where she’d seen Ginny, Harry’s fiancée.

They met on the street corner. Hermione smiled and decided to ask about Harry. She phrased her inquiry, “I’m looking for a tall, dark and handsome man with green eyes who walks this way sometimes. Have you seen him lately?”

Ginny scowled and shook her head, looking as if she was on the verge of tears. “If you’re talking about the lying arsehole with a walking cane, no, I haven’t seen him in three days,” she hissed and brushed past Hermione roughly.

Hermione froze in place, barely hearing the sob that escaped the other woman.

*****

Harry lay on the library floor, oblivious to the passage of time, his mind coping with keeping his body alive by taking him into the past…

*****

_Harry and Hermione had been searching for Helga Hufflepuff’s cup since they’d uncovered their first lead fifteen months ago. In June of ninety-eight, Zacharias Smith had recounted to them his family story of the break-in at the Smith mansion sometime in the nineteen fifties—corroborating a story Dumbledore had told Harry—and they knew they had finally confirmed the identity of the cup that was Voldemort’s Horcrux. Dumbledore had told Harry that Voldemort had left a pattern, one that could be researched and studied, one that might be easy to follow. The headmaster had been right about Tom Riddle’s penchant for the Founders’ antiquities. However, finding clues to the location of the little golden cup had proven quite difficult._

_Prior to interviewing Zacharias, Harry and Hermione had heard that the cup was in the possession of an elderly warlock on the island of Anglesey. They Apparated to the town of Holyhead and began asking about for the warlock’s estate. Most people hadn’t heard of the man, which was rather disappointing. Then, a Hogwarts-age boy told them that a man lived by himself out by the lighthouse, and the only way to get to the man’s house was through the standing stones. They’d thanked the lad and located the stones, which were protected by an enchantment. Harry had felt stupid standing in the middle of someone’s field waving his wand and speaking all the entrance command spells he knew._

_He finally muttered, “Oh, forget it!” As soon as he did so, the enchantment lifted, allowing him and Hermione to enter a hidden area._

_Almost immediately, an elderly wizard appeared in front of them, demanding to know how they had come to be in his garden. Harry let Hermione do the talking and soon the man led them into his house. He proudly showed them his Hufflepuff collection, which turned out to be mostly worthless memorabilia from the turn of the last century. He did have a cup that looked like the one they were seeking, but when Harry turned it over, he found a stamp that read, “Made in China” on the bottom. He showed it to Hermione and she politely gave the cup back, thanked the man for his time and they left through the standing stones feeling very disappointed that their adventure had turned into a dud._

_“We’ve tried rumours,” Hermione said as they walked back to Holyhead. “Now, let’s try fiction. Maybe we’ll find some facts in that story about Zacharias Smith’s family that Dumbledore told you.”_

_“It’s worth a try, but I’m not sure he’ll tell us anything we don’t already know. Dumbledore was quite thorough when he gathered his memories and stories,” he said and sent an owl to Zacharias anyway._

_Zacharias had taken weeks to respond to Harry’s letter. In the meantime, Harry and Hermione encountered two Muggle families being tortured by Death Eaters on different evenings. It seemed that Voldemort had given his followers permission to terrorize as many Muggles as they wished and many of them had taken that permission to heart. The two families Harry and Hermione rescued lived in isolated places, far from emergency help or Muggle authorities. The Death Eaters, it seemed, were conducting initiation events after new recruits had been inducted into Voldemort’s ranks. It was soon apparent that each new recruit must be taught to cast the Unforgivable Spells and Harry and Hermione had stumbled onto two different training sessions._

_The first one had taken place at a Muggle farm near Hartington. Harry and Hermione had been looking for a sheltered place in which to pitch their tent and heard animals bellowing from across some fields. The sight that greeted them turned Harry’s stomach. A single Death Eater’s two recruits were practicing the Imperius Curse and were making the adult Muggles do horrible things to their livestock while the children watched. Harry and Hermione watched for a few minutes as the Death Eater demonstrated and then stood back to observe and make comments. Harry and Hermione decided that they would take out the robed Death Eater first, then deal with the recruits._

_“Stunning Spells on three,” Harry whispered, and counted up with his left hand._

_They released their spells simultaneously, hitting the Death Eater in the back, felling him where he’d stood. Neither recruit noticed their teacher keeling over and Harry and Hermione made quick work of Stunning them, too. Then came the heart-breaking task of Obliviating the Muggles, Vanishing the mistreated livestock that probably wouldn’t live until morning, and cleaning up the evidence. It was Hermione who dismantled a fence to suggest that the animals had escaped through the opening._

_The second training session was much like the first, only the Unforgivable Curse being taught this time was the Cruciatus Curse. Harry and Hermione had needed to infiltrate a barn on this occasion and had stuck to the shadows in order to remain hidden. As with their first rescue, they took out the “instructor” before the recruits, Obliviated the victims, saw them back to their house, and then repaired the Death Eaters’ damage. It was a shame that in both cases, Harry and Hermione had to levitate the Death Eaters away from the scene of their “fun,” and leave them to wake up—Obliviated and believing they had spent the night drinking instead of cursing Muggles—rather than alert the Ministry: by this point in the war the Aurors had been disbanded and the Magical Law Enforcement Squad was now encouraging Dark magic rather than policing it, so there wasn’t much they could do._

_Zacharias’ owl found Harry the next afternoon. Hermione wrote back accepting Zacharias’ invitation to come to see him and two days later, they were ushered into an elegant sitting room with huge windows that let in a late summer breeze. Zacharias was as haughty as he’d been at Hogwarts and it was all Harry could do to stop himself from walking out without hearing the Smith’s story. Zacharias spoke mostly to Hermione and Harry had listened to them with half an ear until Zacharias mentioned the various stories about the cup that could be found in newspapers and magazines. Apparently, there had been a number of cup sightings in the nineteen fifties and sixties, none of which were true, of course…_

_So, Harry and Hermione had started their research with a new angle based on the remark Zacharias had made about the articles and began scouring back issues of Muggle and magical newspapers and magazines. They soon discovered just how many small wizarding libraries they needed to comb. It seemed that every little hamlet where more than two wizarding families lived had one, and every local newspaper had a room filled with back issues. It wasn’t long before Hermione developed a searching spell to help them get through the volume of reading._

_Their first lead came from an article written in the_ Barnsley Barker, _a weekly newspaper with a circulation of about five hundred. The article was dated several years after the Smith break-in and mentioned that an antique shop had sold a “replica” of the cup to a collector of Hufflepuff memorabilia. The article went on to say that the buyer soon was performing strange, Dark spells and eventually killed his wife. The buyer had been sentenced to life in Azkaban and the cup was sold as a part of his estate: the family didn’t want to have anything to do with it._

_Barnsley was a pleasant village and tired of travelling, Harry and Hermione took up residence in their tent in some woods outside of town and began visiting the village shops one by one, asking about the cup incident. Not too many people remembered and the ones who were old enough to remember couldn’t give them any new clues._

_Then, one afternoon close to Halloween, Harry was buying groceries at the village grocer’s when he heard a voice that made his skin crawl. He peered around the end of the aisle he was standing in, catching sight of none other than Fenrir Greyback, who was holding a very long knife to the cashier’s throat and asking him if someone had come in inquiring about a golden cup. There were two other Death Eaters with Greyback, although who they were, Harry could only guess. He backed as far away from the front of the shop as he could, searching for a place to hide. The only means of escape he found was the door to the back room of the grocer’s and it was locked. A quick_ Alohomora _remedied that complication and Harry slipped through the door, still holding his basket of groceries. Looking around, he spied two things, the office and the rear door. Not wanting to steal his groceries, Harry dashed into the office, wrote a quick, anonymous note to the owner of the shop and wrapped up more than enough money for his groceries in the note which he put on the desk. He then left by the back door, only to nearly run into Amycus Carrow. The Death Eater giggled with glee as he pointed his wand at what he thought was another defenceless Muggle and cast a Stunning Spell at him. He giggled even more when his opponent fought back using a wand. The duel lasted for several minutes before Harry landed a Stunning Spell on the giggling Death Eater. As Carrow crumpled to the ground, Harry Disapparated._

_“We have to leave now!” he told Hermione as he burst into the tent._

_“Whatever for?” she asked._

_“Death Eaters asking about us in the village. They know someone’s been asking about that incident with the cup years ago,” Harry answered. “We need to leave before Amycus Carrow wakes up.”_

_“Start your story over, Harry. You’re not making sense,” Hermione, looking up at him from her seat at the table._

_Harry sighed and quickly told her what had happened at the grocers._

_“Harry, the enchantments around the tent are supposed to keep the Death Eaters and Snatchers from finding us,” Hermione said. “We’re far enough away from the village that even if they detected which way you Apparated, they’d have to cover a lot of ground before they found us.”_

_Harry sighed and handed her a handful of tiny bottles, jars, packages and bags of vegetables. “All right, you win,” he said as she cast an enlarging spell and the groceries resumed their original sizes. “But I’m packing up my rucksack just in case we need to leave in a hurry.”_

_That night, just after one o’clock, the Death Eaters had turned out in force, looking for the wizard who had duelled with Amycus Carrow. Hermione, who was on guard duty at the time, woke Harry with an apology. They quickly packed up the tent, cancelled their enchantments, and Disapparated just as the first Death Eater entered the clearing._

The memory faded and was replaced by another.

_**Several Weeks Later…** _

_Hermione had unearthed another story about Hufflepuff’s cup, this time in a Manchester newspaper,_ The Manchester Tattler _. The article talked about a woman, a Squib who collected antique cups, who had purchased an unusual one with two handles with a picture of a badger on it. Since her family had all been in Hufflepuff at one time or another, she had decided to display it on her mantlepiece. Within days, the article related, the woman was performing spells she had never been able to perform in her life. Her magical neighbours thought this was miraculous, so they asked her about it. To their surprise, the woman became belligerent, telling them that her new friend, Tom, was helping her with her magic. Several months later, one of the neighbours convinced her to sell the cup at the next Bring and Fly Sale._

_Harry and Hermione had been sipping café mochas in a Muggle café after finding the article, discussing their next move, when two oddly-dressed men entered the shop. The hour was late, the shop would close soon, and Harry watched as the two tried to pronounce the various beverage names. Their orders given, the taller of the two men fumbled with the Muggle bank notes they carried. The shop girl became impatient and finally reached over and grabbed some money out of the man’s hand. He immediately said something offensive and pulled out his wand, casting a spell on the girl who handed back all of the money and turned to make the men’s order free of charge. At this, Harry kicked Hermione under the table, their signal for_ we need to get out of here. _She nodded and began drinking her mocha as quickly as she could._

_Unfortunately, the two men had spied Harry and Hermione and now they sat down at the table next to the door, deliberately trapping them. The next few minutes were tense ones as Harry tried to think of a way out that didn’t involve Apparition. The shop girl returned with the men’s drinks, nearly dropping them on their table in her haste to be away from them. As she walked past Harry and Hermione, she asked if there was anything else she could get them._

_“You need to leave,” Hermione said with a smile and a shake of her head, as if she was telling the girl they didn’t need anything more. “Those two men are bad news. Your supervisor will understand if you leave now.”_

_The girl’s eyes widened and she scurried into the back of the shop. The sound of the back door closing caused the men to look at Harry and Hermione._

_“What did you tell her?” the tall man demanded, standing up and levelling his wand on Harry and Hermione._

_“We said we didn’t need anything more and thanked her for asking,” Harry said, standing up. He took out his wallet and put several notes on the table. The man’s eyes followed his every move._

_Harry turned to Hermione. “You ready to go, luv?” he asked._

_Hermione gathered her handbag. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”_

_“Not so fast,” the tall man said belligerently. He moved and his left sleeve rode up his arm, exposing the bottom of his Dark Mark. “_ Oblivi—”

“Expelliarmus! _” Harry yelled at the same time as Hermione cast a Shield Charm._

_Harry’s spell hit its mark and the Death Eater’s wand flew out of his hand. Harry caught it and snapped it in two. With a bellow, the Death Eater lunged at Harry as his companion began hexing anything in the café that might distract Harry and Hermione._

_On instinct, Harry and Hermione overturned their table to use as a barrier between themselves and the Death Eaters. The Disarmed Death Eater barrelled into the table, breaking it in half. Harry Stunned him as Hermione began casting spells at the other Death Eater. He shot several spells that hit the overhead lights, causing them to go out, and the room was plunged into semi-darkness. The front door suddenly opened and Harry could see the dark figure of a policeman standing in the doorway, illuminated by the spellfire._

_“Stop what you’re doing now!” the policeman demanded._

_The Death Eater gave a high-pitched giggle, identifying himself to Harry as Amycus Carrow, and cast a Confundus Charm at the policeman, who shook his head violently, stepped back onto the street and began walking away._

_In the meantime, Harry took advantage of Carrow’s inattention and Stunned him. He fell with a thump. With both Death Eaters out cold, Harry took off after the policeman. When he reached him, Harry gently urged him back towards the café, where he took the policeman into the office and told him to sit at the desk for a bit. Then he went to help Hermione clean up the mess Carrow’s spells had created. Their last task was to levitate Carrow and the other Death Eater out the back door and deposit them next to the big dust bins. For good measure, Hermione covered the two in trash before she and Harry went to help the policeman back into the café. The Confundus Charm was wearing off, so Hermione gave him a complimentary cup of coffee to take with him and showed him to the front door. She and Harry left after locking up the café. It would be months before they went anywhere using the disguises they’d used that night._

The memory faded and Harry slept. Once again, he dreamed of the Horcrux hunt… 

_**November 1999** _

_It had taken months, but they now knew that Wayne Hopkins’ father had purchased Hufflepuff’s cup at an estate sale sometime in the eighties. Wayne’s family had proudly displayed the cup for many years until the war bankrupted the family business and Wayne’s father began pawning the family’s valuable antiques. In October of nineteen ninety-nine, Mr Hopkins sold the cup to a pawnbroker in Portsmouth. Harry and Hermione, who had been visiting antique shops and pawn shops in the area, learned of this and paid the pawnbroker a visit._

_“Can I interest you two in something?” the pawnbroker asked as they entered the shop._

_“We’re looking for a gold cup, similar in shape to a trophy, with two handles and a badger engraved on it,” Harry told him. “Might you have seen something like it?”_

_The pawnbroker gave a startled laugh. “I just purchased a cup of that description,” he said. He turned to a cabinet on his side of the display case and unlocked it, taking out a golden cup. He placed it in front of Harry and Hermione. “Solid gold. Whoever created this copy of the original did a great job. I’ll sell it to you for two hundred Galleons.”_

_Harry picked up the cup and immediately felt the magic of the Horcrux vibrating inside it. He handed it to Hermione with a small nod. She turned it over and examined the provenance markings on the bottom. She, too, nodded at Harry, who drew his wand as fast as he could, pointing it at the other man, and shouting, “_ OBLIVIATE! _”_

_The pawnbroker’s eyes went out of focus as Harry told him, “You’ve sold us a very nice paste worth twenty Galleons. Here’s your money.”_

_“Sorry I wasn’t of much help,” the man told them as Hermione put the cup in her handbag and they headed for the door._

_Several hours later, in the privacy of their tent, Harry and Hermione dripped basilisk venom they’d stolen from an apothecary onto the cup and watched as the Horcrux writhed and screamed its last threats. When it was over, they added the cup to their growing collection of dead objects._

*****

Hermione wasted no more time. If Ginny didn’t want anything to do with Harry, something horrible had happened between them and now Harry was in trouble. Hermione hastened back to Grimmauld Place, tapped her wand against the door, and let herself into the house. A cloud of smoke coming from the kitchen billowed out the open door and instantly had her sprinting for the kitchen. She threw open the warming oven, which was set to forty-nine degrees Celsius, and levitated out the smoking remains of Harry’s elegant dinner that had been in the oven since he’d cooked it on Saturday. Several spells later, the house was free of smoke and the ruined pots and pans had been Vanished. Hermione now mounted the stairs in search of her friend. She found him on the library floor, his hand wrapped around the handle of his wand. She knew in an instant what had happened between him and Ginny.


	12. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione sits with Harry at St Mungo's, Harry dreams of the Horcrux hunt and Neville Longbottom visits Harry.

**Author's Note:** Many of my readers are concerned that Harry has slid back into the clutches of Voldemort’s spell. One thing you must remember about this spell is that Harry learned to love Ginny, which weakened its hold it had on him. There is every chance that he will not regain consciousness and be the surly, unpleasant person who woke up the first time, unable to remember what friendships were like and who delighted in making everyone around him miserable.

Many thanks go to Melindaleo, Mutt n Feathers, Brennus and Cackling Stump for their comments, support and suggestions that made this chapter great. I would be remiss if I didn’t say “thank you” to you, my readers, for your reviews. I enjoy writing back to every one of you.

**Chapter Twelve**

It had been a long, frustrating week and the next one promised to be the same if Harry didn’t wake up soon. Oh, how she longed to talk with him, to tell him that he had done the right thing when he Obliviated his fiancée: Muggle/wizard marriages were fraught with a lack of trust and unhappiness due to the strict rules of the Statute of Secrecy. But would Harry have been able to prove history wrong as he had so many other times? Could he have proven that with openness and honesty he could have the happy marriage he’d always wanted? It boiled down to one specific question: what was the root cause of all the unhappiness? The Statute itself or the way the couple interpreted the law? The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that Ginny was angrier at Harry for lying to her than the reality of magic itself; keeping something that big a secret was definitely grounds for mistrusting him. But could it have been different?

Hermione remembered Harry’s insistence that he be open and honest with Ginny and that included telling her about magic and him being a wizard, the law be hanged! What might have happened between them if she had been more rational or Harry hadn’t been so quick to use his wand? Would Ginny have gone back to her flat, mulled over what she had learned and how she felt about it and then come back a day or a week later and apologized for not considering the pressure he was under to keep her ignorant? 

Unfortunately, with Ginny Obliviated Hermione and Harry would never know. What she did know was that eventually Harry would wake and instantly be engulfed by the guilt connected to his actions. In the past when he was drowning in guilt, he would cut himself off from everyone until he had come to terms with what bothered him. It was just his way of coping with the events of his life. Anyone who tried to push his re-entry into the world was rebuffed: she should know, she had been one of them after the battle of Little Hangleton and Dean Thomas’ death, and being shut out of Harry’s life had made her feel useless. She felt that way now.

With all her knowledge, all her researching skills, she thought she should have known how to bring Harry out of the quagmire that his mind had turned into. There were times as she sat reading or doing paperwork that she thought Harry was cognisant enough to be aware of who was in the room with him. These moments of awareness were brief and seemed to come before Harry began to “dream.” Hermione could only sit back and watch as her friend seemed to relive something from his past with every episode.

Madam Pomfrey and the Healer in charge of Harry’s ward agreed on one thing: with the withdrawal of his fiancée’s love, Voldemort’s spell had once again taken hold of Harry’s mind and body and he was suffering from the depredations of the mad wizard all over again. When he was dreaming, his body contorted, he murmured spells, called people’s names—"Ginny” had been added to the list of their Hogwarts friends and fellow combatants and he called for her often—his feet and hands twitched and he seemed to suffer real, physical pain. There was no telling how long it would be before Harry came out of the coma completely and when he did, she wondered if his body and mind would be as strong as they had been in the last few months or would the absence of love have weakened him to the point of death? Hermione thought the latter was going to be the case: Harry was expending so much energy—mental, physical and magical—that the guilt alone would weaken him because he didn’t feel loved. The idea of having to convince Harry for the second time in three years that he was loved and capable of loving was what frustrated and discouraged Hermione the most. She wasn’t sure she was strong enough to go through the process again.

A ward sister now poked her head around the curtains surrounding Harry’s bed. “Miss Granger, there’s someone in the waiting area who wants to see you,” she said. “He gave his name as Neville Longbottom. Should I bring him in?”

Hermione put down her scroll and stood up, glad to stretch her legs. “I’ll come with you,” she said. “I could use the walk.”

“Understandable.”

Hermione followed the medi-witch and soon greeted Neville, who enveloped her in a warm hug. 

“I came as soon as I heard,” Neville said. “Do you know the cause of this relapse?”

“Harry fell in love with a Muggle woman and proposed before he told her about magic,” Hermione said flatly and went on to voice her suspicions about Ginny.

“That’s tough,” Neville commented, wincing as they walked back to Harry’s ward. “Most likely she thought he was lying to her. Nobody likes that.”

“I agree, but it gets worse,” Hermione said. She stopped outside the ward doors and continued in a hushed tone, “Before she left the house, he Obliviated her after not using a wand since the Battle of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade.”

“Is that what put him in here?” Neville asked.

“It is and I think he’s dreaming about some of the Obliviations we had to perform during the Horcrux hunt, but I haven’t told anyone about that because so few know the real reason Voldemort died,” Hermione sighed.

“Has someone confirmed the spell?”

“I did. I needed to know what to tell the Healers and the most recent spells his wand performed were the one he used on Voldemort and the Obliviation.” Hermione leaned against the wall and stared up at the ceiling, trying to supress her tears. It wouldn’t do to fall apart in front of Neville. She needed to remain strong.

Neville, looking rather pale himself, took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Discedere Vitae?”

“That’s the one,” Hermione sniffed, remembering how Neville had followed her into the Great Hall in pursuit of Nagini and had been witness to Harry’s duel with Voldemort. She blew her nose and mopped her eyes on the handkerchief that was always present in her pocket these days and led the way into the ward.

Harry lay in the bed farthest from the door, his face nearly the same colour as the sheets. Light from the window next to him illuminated his area and Hermione immediately noticed the twitching of his feet. She pointed this out to Neville.

“He has to be dreaming,” she said. “We did a lot of running during those five years and if you watch closely enough, he’ll try to throw a spell over his shoulder, like he did so often when we were being chased.”

“Does he say anything?” Neville asked quietly. 

“Sometimes. It’s pretty incoherent, but I’ve learned to tell the difference between _Stupefy_ and _Expelliarmus_ because he twitches differently for each spell. He also calls out names. He’s added ‘Ginny’ to his list, though how she fits into his memories of the battles he fought I haven’t a clue,” Hermione said with a tired sigh. “Anyway, I’m waiting for him to start dreaming about the final battle. His Healers have been discussing the sorts of calming strategies they’ll use to minimize his magical energy loss during that memory.”

“You mean he might actually do accidental magic while dreaming of the battle?” Neville asked, his eyes wide.

“It’s possible if he believes he’s actually battling for his life like he did that night,” Hermione said. “The loss of magical energy could kill him.”

Neville stepped forward and hugged her again. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

*****

Harry was indeed dreaming about the Horcrux hunt, specifically, the last eleven months of the war. So much fear, anger, pain, urgency, and sadness were packed into those months that it now felt as overwhelming to him as it had when it happened the first time.

_**Hogsmeade, May 2002** _

_The weather was cooperating for once. The sun was out and both Harry and Hermione were regretting having to spend most of the day interviewing the Hogwarts ghosts for clues to Ravenclaw’s diadem while the students were in Hogsmeade, but the task was a necessary part of their search for the Horcrux. In addition, this would be their last opportunity to access the school because Professor McGonagall had warned them that the Death Eaters’ grip on everything in the Wizarding world was tightening. How she had managed to keep Hogwarts independent of Voldemort’s influence this long Harry had no idea, but he suspected that his former head of house was beginning to succumb to the threats she hinted at. He suspected that if the war continued until the end of this term, all the teachers would need to prove their loyalty to Voldemort in order to be hired back in September._

_So, ignoring the sunshine streaming through the windows, Harry and Hermione found two unused classrooms and began talking with the ghosts. At noon, they stopped for lunch and to compare notes. Hermione hadn’t learned anything new, and was becoming discouraged, having talked with Nearly Headless Nick and the Fat Friar. Harry, on the other hand, had been the lucky one. His first interview with the Bloody Baron had been fruitless, but when he had taken on Ravenclaw’s house ghost, the Grey Lady turned out to be Rowena Ravenclaw’s daughter and what a treasure trove she had been! She had told him that the diadem had never left Britain because in life, the Grey Lady had tried to protect it from a greedy rogue who wanted it for the jewels decorating it by hiding it in the school! She had died at the hands of the rogue and her secret of its location went to the grave with her. She had then told Harry where to find the diadem and after they ate, Harry and Hermione had gone looking for it in a secret room full of discarded items._

_After a lot of poking into this box and that old wardrobe, the diadem they found turned out to be an exact copy of the original: When Harry touched it, he had no connection to it like he had to the other Horcruxes._

_“It’s not what we’re looking for,” Harry said, feeling utterly defeated. “Do you think we need to go back and talk with the Grey Lady again?”_

_Hermione, who had been poking around amongst the other items on the table where they’d found the diadem, shook her head and held up a piece of paper in a shaking hand. “Look at this!” she exclaimed. “It’s a receipt for the sale of one silver tiara, dated June of eighty-six.” She thrust the paper towards Harry. “Take a look at the second signature!”_

_“T. M. Riddle?” Harry asked. “I don’t get it. Riddle had disappeared long before that.”_

_“Exactly. Think about it, Harry. Riddle didn’t want the Grey Lady floating in here and discovering her mother’s diadem missing: she still thought she was protecting it, her purpose for staying on Earth in the first place. So, with the intention of making it into a Horcrux, Riddle came to the school, spoke to Dumbledore as you said, and came in here to make the copy on the way out. He made off with the real diadem, which he probably had in his possession on the night he tried to kill you years later,” she theorized, while speaking very fast._

_“But why keep it for so long?” Harry asked._

_“Maybe he was keeping it for a murder of special significance and hadn’t found the right person to kill yet?” Hermione speculated._

_“That’s sick!” Harry exclaimed as he began pacing. “I still don’t get how the Muggle curator in the museum in Gloucester knew about the diadem.”_

_“Lots of Muggles have ancestral wizard blood, Harry.”_

_“You think the curator I talked to was a descendant of a Squib whose family had a history of being Sorted into Ravenclaw and when he had the opportunity to purchase what he thought was the Ravenclaw diadem, he did,” Harry said, finally following Hermione’s train of thought. She nodded briskly. “But we now know that diadem wasn’t the real one because while it looked like the real thing, there were subtle differences that only a true Ravenclaw would notice.” Harry stopped pacing and looked at his friend. “So how did the real diadem end up in the Muggle world?”_

_“The same way the diary ended up in my books before third year… it was probably on Voldemort’s person the night he went to your house and someone close to him took it off the floor or out of Voldemort’s robes.”_

_“That means that the person had to have been in the house between the time Voldemort disappeared and Sirius and Dumbledore came to investigate!” Harry interrupted._

_Hermione smiled. “You’re absolutely right. So, do you have an idea of who it might have been?”_

_“A couple people come to mind,” Harry mused, “but I’m going to keep my ideas to myself for now.”_

_Hermione huffed. “You’re no fun.”_

_“Don’t get angry, Hermione,” Harry pleaded. “It’s just that I think Voldemort had already made the diadem into a Horcrux using my dad’s death. I want to clear up a few things before I tell you who I think it is.”_

_“I’m sorry, Harry,” Hermione said, sounding contrite. “Anyway, let’s say whoever took the diadem kept it until he thought it was safe to get rid of it and then the idiot probably sold it to this pawnbroker because he needed money. I’m thinking that he signed the bill of sale T. M. Riddle to keep himself anonymous…”_

_“And Banished the bill of sale to this room in order to keep the secret?”_

_“I don’t know why that makes sense, but it does,” Hermione said._

_“Not many people in the Wizarding world know that Voldemort’s name was originally Tom Riddle and those who know aren’t telling,” Harry murmured. “Even fewer people in the Muggle world would know because Tom was just a troublesome kid in that orphanage. I think whoever took the diadem the night I got my scar used a Muggle pawn shop.”_

_“All right… If we work on that hypothesis, then the Death Eater didn’t come back for the diadem because he was either dead or put in Azkaban for some reason,” Hermione said. “I think the next thing we need to do is start combing the Muggle pawn shops in major cities.”_

_“Let’s go back to your house. We can use the telephone there,” Harry suggested._

_Hermione had agreed and they soon had the two classrooms back in order. They had then decided to take advantage of the last of the sunshine and walk down to Hogsmeade for some Honeydukes chocolate and a butterbeer. After transfiguring each other’s appearances, they left through the oak front doors, walking the familiar path they hadn’t traversed in four years._

_Halfway to the village, they met up with several young students who were running in a panic towards the school: Death Eaters had breached the school’s security around the village. Harry thanked the students and with a glance at Hermione, Apparated to the roof of the post office, the best place to see what was happening in the village. Amidst a stream of escaping owls, Harry and Hermione watched as a group of Death Eaters herded the students remaining in the streets into the centre of the high street where they encircled them. The leader raised his wand and began an incantation that Hermione seemed to understand, but Harry didn’t._

_“He’s taking them to Tom,” Hermione whispered to Harry and raised her own wand. The red Stunning Spell left her wand silently and met its mark, felling the chanting Death Eater._

_At the same time, a voice rang out, distracting the rest of the group, “_ You will _not_ hurt the students or teachers of Hogwarts _!”_

_“We can and we will!” one Death Eater sneered at Professor McGonagall. “You’re done for, old woman!”_

_“Release my students, then be on your way,” Professor McGonagall commanded as several teachers Apparated onto the street in back of her. Someone in the crowd of Death Eaters cast a spell that hit one of the newcomers. His facial hair immediately became urchin-like spikes that waved dangerously close to his eyes and nose._

_On the roof, Hermione pleaded with Harry, “What are we going to do? We can’t just sit here! The children are stuck in the middle!”_

_“Who should I protect? The teachers or the students?” Harry whispered frantically._

_“The teachers can take care of themselves,” Hermione told him decisively as she took aim at another Death Eater. “Most of those students look no older than fourth year.”_

_With a nod, Harry began picking off the Death Eaters in the back, the ones not so noticeable. As he did, another Death Eater stepped forward, took aim at the teachers and with a bellowed “_ Avada Kedavra _” the battle was on._

_From their vantage point, Harry and Hermione watched as another Death Eater began the incantation to kidnap the students._

_“Help me,” Harry hissed, pointing to the Death Eater. “Disrupt the circle. I think that’s the key.”_

_Hermione nodded and they incapacitated several more Death Eaters before their position was discovered. However, they had done what they had meant to do and the corralled students scattered as Harry and Hermione Apparated into the street and engaged the Death Eaters._

_Suddenly, a piercing scream rent the air. Harry glanced over his shoulder to see a Death Eater standing over Professor McGonagall who had crumpled to the ground._

_“She’s dead! The wicked witch is dead!” bellowed the Death Eater. “We have triumphed! Take all the hostages you can!”_

_Most of the duels in Harry’s immediate vicinity stopped as the Death Eaters began pointing their wands at the fleeing students, trying to Summon them or curse them badly enough that their fellows could easily capture them._

_“Harry!” he heard Hermione call. He sprinted in the direction of her voice and when he reached her, his sobbing friend grabbed hold of his arm and Apparated him to their campsite in Avebury, leaving behind a scene of complete chaos._

_“What did you do that for?” Harry yelled as soon as they landed._

_“Your saving-people-thing, Harry!” Hermione shouted back. “I could tell by the look on your face that you had every intention of trying to save every last student you could!”_

_“Is that such a bad thing, Hermione? You wanted me to disrupt the circle and save them!” Harry exclaimed exasperatedly._

_Hermione took a deep breath and spoke softly, “No, Harry, it’s not. You didn’t see what I saw. Harry, there were five Death Eaters in back of you pointing their wands at your head. If we’d stayed to fight, we would have ended up as their prisoners. We can’t fight V-Voldemort until every last Horcrux is silenced and we couldn’t do that if we were captured.”_

_Harry sank onto a fallen log and lowered his head into his hands. “I’m sorry for yelling. You were right to pull us out of there. I shouldn’t have turned my back on the Death Eaters either,” he sighed._

_Hermione sat next to him and put an arm around his shoulders. “You wouldn’t be my Harry if you didn’t do things like that,” she said. “It’s just who you are. I learned that a long time ago.”_

_There was no notice of Professor McGonagall’s death in the_ Daily Prophet _the next day. Hermione was heartbroken that her favourite teacher would not be eulogized because it was too dangerous for those supporting their cause to gather to pay their respects to a much-beloved teacher and leader of Hogwarts._

The memory ended and Harry sank back into the stillness of sleep, although his mind remained active. He vaguely recognized the voices outside the still, warm cocoon that was his bed and was glad that the one who sat with him most often had a friend to talk to. The thought was comforting, but only to a degree because he himself felt very much alone.

*****

Neville stayed with Hermione for several hours. He didn’t envy her in the least, mostly because of his experiences at his parents’ bedsides while growing up. He had vague memories from when he was very little of sitting on his gran’s lap and having to stay quiet so as to not disturb the two people lying in their beds. His next memory was of his mum sitting up and asking who he was; it had taken a very long time before she understood he was her son. Over the years, his parents had made small gains in their health, but it had taken an enormous amount of sitting and being quiet on his part, something that grated on his nerves even as a teenager. Hermione had his sympathy.

Near the end of visiting hours, an agitated medi-witch entered the ward following a wizard in a smart Muggle business suit. Neville recognized him at once as Anthony Goldstein, a pompous Ravenclaw in his year at Hogwarts. The healer was hissing something about visiting hours being nearly over and to please come back tomorrow.

Goldstein stopped halfway down the ward and turned towards the medi-witch. “I’m not here to see anyone, madam. I’m here to fetch my girlfriend who is the one visiting someone,” he said, pointing towards Hermione.

Neville exchanged a startled glance with Hermione, who mouthed, _FETCH? GIRLFRIEND? NO!_

It seemed that Anthony’s words had calmed the medi-witch enough for her to let him proceed down the ward to Harry’s bed.

“Good evening, Hermione,” he said stiffly. “I seem to remember that we had tickets to the chamber music concert at Royal Albert Hall tonight and you were supposed to meet me for dinner. We’re late, so I had to cancel dinner. Are you ready?”

Hermione looked frustrated. “No, Anthony, I’m not ready. I don’t want to go to the concert. I’d rather spend a little more time with Harry before I go home,” she told him.

Anthony folded his arms, looking put-out. “Potter isn’t going anywhere and probably doesn’t even know you’re sitting there. I spent good money on those tickets, Hermione, thinking that you’d like to spend the evening with me. Here, let me help you get ready.” He pulled out his wand and flicked it in Hermione’s direction. Instantly, her work robes became a stylish Muggle cocktail dress in midnight blue and her sensible flats became delicate sandals with two-inch heels.

“Undo your transfiguration now!” Hermione demanded, standing up. She glared at Anthony, her entire body vibrating angrily, the ends of her hair sparking with her rage. Neville was very glad she wasn’t looking at _him_ that way!

“Ah, that’s better,” Anthony said, ignoring her protests. “Now for the hair. An up-do should go nicely with the dress.” He flicked his wand, but Hermione sidestepped out of the way. Neville had to dodge the spell, too. It hit the wall and left a round burn mark in the paint.

Hermione had picked up her own wand from where it lay on Harry’s bedside table and in two strides had it poking Anthony in the chest. “I told you I didn’t want to go out tonight, Anthony,” she hissed as tiny red sparks issued from the tip. “I have work to catch up on and I don’t need you coming here and disturbing Harry’s ward. Please leave.”

Anthony stepped back from Hermione’s wand and looked down at the tiny brown-ringed holes the sparks had made in his shirt. “You ruined my shirt, you barmy hag!” he exclaimed. 

“Oh, so you’re resorting to name-calling now!” Hermione’s tone dripped with derision. “How plebeian.” 

Anthony took several seconds to respond. “I thought you were different, Hermione, but I see that spending the time with an incapacitated vegetable is more important than going out with me,” he said.

Hermione stepped towards him again. “Harry is _not_ a vegetable!” she exclaimed, her voice rising with every word. Looking around the ward, Neville could see the heads of other visitors turning towards the raised voices in their little corner.

Anthony gestured towards the bed. “Hermione, Harry hasn’t been conscious for three weeks! The only thing keeping him alive is the spellwork of some very skilled Healers. He should be dead by all accounts, either that or moved to the permanent ward,” he said. “No matter what, you should be leaving him alone, not sitting here night and day, barely existing, when you could be out having fun and getting on with your life. You deserve better than this.”

“Anthony, that’s enough. I’m an adult who chooses what I want to do and with whom I do it. I see that I’ve made the correct choice to be here with Harry because I’d say you’re jealous of him! You’re always flashing your money around getting pricy seats to concerts or taking me to expensive restaurants. I can’t be bought, Anthony. Harry knows it and so does Neville!”

Neville stepped close to Hermione. “She’s right, you know,” he said, making direct eye contact with the other wizard.

Hermione smiled appreciatively at him, then turned back to Anthony, advancing another step forward and forcing him slowly towards the door. “Now, if you can’t be man enough to understand the importance of my being at Harry’s side as much as possible, I suggest you think about what I told you at lunch the other day when you were upset that I wouldn’t be home that evening.”

Neville took the opportunity to add a thought to Hermione’s argument. “If the _Daily Prophet_ leaks anything about Harry that it isn’t supposed to know, we will know where the information came from. Now, I suggest that you return Hermione’s clothes to their original condition and then walk out those doors before I call someone to escort you out,” he said, drawing himself to his full height, which was several inches taller than Anthony.

Anthony scowled. “I think not,” he said haughtily. “Figure it out yourself, Hermione, or wait for it to wear off.” At her angry growl and a couple of advancing steps from Neville, Anthony turned and headed for the door. He paused when he reached it, his hand on the knob. “We could have been good together,” he said to Hermione. Then, he was gone.

Neville turned to Hermione who had taken off her shoes and gone back to her chair beside Harry. She was cleaning up her belongings by throwing them haphazardly into her briefcase. “Are you all right?” he asked, genuinely concerned.

Hermione put down several scrolls and shook her head, clearly upset by the confrontation. “I had no idea he was that jealous of the time I spend with Harry. I’m glad to be shot of him, but it may make working with his department a bit difficult from now on…” She trailed off and picking up the scrolls again, tossed them into her briefcase.

Neville moved to her side and put a hand on her arm. She stopped her frantic movements and looked up at him. He opened his arms to her. “It’ll be all right, Hermione,” he said as she melted into his embrace.

“I know it will, eventually,” she sniffed. “It’s just so frustrating to sit here day after day not knowing when he’s going to wake up or if he ever will.”

“I know how it is, Hermione,” Neville murmured, while rubbing circles on her back.

She pulled back and sat down on her chair. “Come sit down, Neville, I feel I owe you an explanation about Anthony.” When he’d done so, she went on. “I started meeting Anthony for lunch and the occasional concert last July. Harry was doing so much better that I accepted the first invitation I received. Anthony was the perfect gentleman up until Harry used up his magic three weeks ago and I began spending most of my time here at the hospital. Since the middle of January, I’ve been treated to a different side of Anthony’s personality and I don’t like it. I know he purchased the tickets for tonight’s concert two months ago and that they were very expensive, but that doesn’t give him the right to transfigure my clothes and demand my attention.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Neville agreed.

“There’s something else,” Hermione admitted. She seemed to gather her strength to make a confession. Finally, she said, “It’s bothered me for a long time, but I’ve kept it to myself for so long that it seems to govern how I act where Harry is concerned. Neville, please don’t be angry with me, but there was a time during the war that I essentially abandoned Harry and the Horcrux hunt.” 

Neville turned to look at Harry saying, “He told me about the two of you separating for a time during the war.”

“When did he tell you?” Hermione asked. 

“About a year ago,” Neville answered. “We were playing chess one afternoon, reminiscing about our parts in the war while we played, and he told me the story. I know his side of the story and now I’d like to hear yours.”

“You don’t sound angry,” Hermione whispered, sounding amazed.

Neville smiled at her. “I can’t be, Hermione,” he said. “It was war and you were in the thick of it up to your eyebrows with no relief in sight. You made the best decision at the time for you. Sometimes our choices aren’t the one’s we’d normally make if life was ‘normal,’ but they seem to be the best for the situation at the time.”

Hermione smiled back. “You sound like Dumbledore,” she teased.

Neville chuckled as Hermione focused her gaze on the window and began her tale.

“We arrived back in England from our rather successful trip to Albania to find my parents’ house in ruins and my parents gone. Neighbours said they stayed in a hotel for about a week after the fire to close down their surgery and make their travel plans. I just missed their departure for Sydney, Australia by a day. You can imagine how upset I was. Harry tried to comfort me, but I wouldn’t have it. I blamed him for the tragedy and wouldn’t let him help me sift through the ashes for anything salvageable. We pitched the tent in my parents’ back garden and essentially did our own thing for about six months: Harry read a diary, really a book of lists and spells we’d found in Albania, while I ignored what he was doing and reconstructed the house. When it was rebuilt, Harry and I had a blazing row about my selfish desire to reunite with my parents in the rebuilt house verses the importance of continuing to fulfil the task Dumbledore had set us. Fed up with me and the fact that I didn’t want to hunt Horcruxes any more, Harry took the tent and stormed out of the garden, intent on continuing the search. I waited a week and when he didn’t come back, I carried on looking for my parents. I finally made contact with them about eight months after I’d returned home. I then went to Australia to try to convince them to come home, but they wouldn’t come with me. They had become involved with an organization that travelled the Outback providing free dental care to those living in remote places, something they both found tremendously rewarding. They told me their life in England was a thing of the past and that they were doing more good in Australia than they ever did in Britain. I now own the house and they occasionally come to visit, and I live with the guilt of having abandoned Harry when he needed me. Can you see now why I feel obligated to sit by his bedside?”

Neville reached for Hermione’s hand. “Hermione, I understand completely. I hope you know that Harry forgave you long ago and he really does recognise you’re with him now. My parents are in a very similar state; while awake and walking around, they essentially are in a permanent coma. Like Harry, they hear and react to stimuli, but you can hardly call it living because they don’t interact.

“As for you, you made decisions that felt right at the time, ones that helped you cope with the war, the loss of friends and family, and your need to step back. Harry told me that he doesn’t blame you for needing time for yourself because in the end, you were with him that last six, intense months when it counted.”

Hermione’s response wasn’t what he expected. She suddenly lunged at him, wrapping her arms around him and sobbing into his shoulder. “Oh, Neville, thank you for understanding!” she cried softly a few minutes later. She pulled away and sat mopping her eyes with a handkerchief Neville handed her. “I’ve worried that I was a complete disappointment where Harry’s concerned. That’s why I’ve devoted so much time to him all these months.”

“And he’s grateful,” Neville said. “You two act like a brother and sister rather than best friends.”

“That’s essentially what we are, Neville. We both grew up in rather isolated situations and connected at Hogwarts because the other fulfilled a need the other had. When Harry decided he was not going back to Hogwarts for his seventh year, I didn’t think twice about accompanying him. I’d gone on all of his other adventures and the thought of not going with him on his quest was unthinkable. We’d always worked as a team and we promised each other we’d have each other’s back until Voldemort was dead… just like I’ve heard of other siblings promising each other. You know what the funny thing is, Neville? I’ve never, ever wondered what it would be like to kiss Harry Potter! I get that question all the time in interviews and it’s the most disgusting thought anyone could have!”

Neville chuckled. “Now that sounds like a sister talking!” 

The lights in the ward began to dim. “That’s our clue to leave,” Hermione said, while shutting her briefcase and putting on her coat. “There’s a nice little café around the corner. Fancy a cup of tea?”

Neville smiled. “I’d love a cuppa.”

As they left the ward, Hermione’s shoes changed back to flats and Neville thought he heard her sigh in relief.


	13. Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny reacts to her breakup with Harry, Hermione and Neville mind Harry at St Mungo's, and Harry dreams of the Horcrux hunt.

**Author’s Note:** Thanks to all who have been asking “where’s Ginny?” in your reviews. I can now tell you that Ginny is now in the limelight. Because I’m trying to tell both sides of the same story, I’ve had to jump back in time a little so that you know how she fared right after leaving Harry’s house in January. I must confess that I put a lot of myself into Ginny’s emotions because I think that she would have reacted to her breakup in much the same way I coped with my husband’s cancer. She’s strong, but she still needs the support of her family.

Thank you to Melindaleo, Mutt n Feathers, Cackling Stump and Brennus for your support with this chapter. They asked questions, reminded me that Ginny isn’t a crier, and then agreed with me that at certain times in life, one just has to be a human hosepipe.

I look forward to hearing from you in the reviews.

**Chapter 13**

After her mother left, Ginny crawled into bed and fell into a fitful sleep. She dreamt of many things, but mostly her mind chose to replay favourite scenes with Harry from the last six months. She had loved teaching him how to ride a bicycle, cooking with him in her tiny kitchen, and taking him to see his first film at the cinema, _Cinderella Man._ He’d liked the film, he said, because it had shown him what Dudley had done in the ring at Smeltings. Normally, dreams like these pleasant memories would make her wake up refreshed and ready for the day, but now they only brought her grief and she awoke several hours later tired and out of sorts.

She felt that way for the next few weeks. Normally not a crier — growing up with six older brothers quickly taught her that tears only brought more grief — Ginny found her emotions were entirely too close to the surface these days, which meant that the littlest thing could send her into a bout of tears. If she passed a florist’s window, the sight of the beautiful flowers reminded her of the first bouquet that had started their relationship and she’d begin to weep. A trip to a museum on a Saturday brought such a flurry of tears that she had to hide in the loo until it was safe to go back to the exhibit she’d been looking at, while avoiding the artefact that had triggered her tears. Even something as simple as choosing a card to send to a friend made her throat close up and her eyes sting, and she had to put away her knitting because it reminded her of the time she had spent making Harry’s jumper before Christmas. 

Eventually, she began to feel more like herself again, but there always seemed to be something missing and it wasn’t until she voiced this thought to a friend at work that it made sense.

“Ginny, I think you’re still in love with the bugger,” Sally said as they ate lunch together in the hospital cafeteria. “You need to let him go.”

“I can’t, Sally. Don’t you think I’ve tried?” Ginny asked miserably. “I fell deeply in love with the wanker and now he’s refusing to leave my heart.”

“I know you did, but if he doesn’t want children, you need to find a man who does and get on with your life,” Sally said pragmatically. “You can’t keep torturing yourself over the ghost of a bloke who doesn’t know what he’s giving up.”

Ginny agreed with her.

However, deep inside, Ginny wondered if Harry really didn’t want children. She remembered him telling her how he’d watched the other kids with their siblings when he was little and wondered what it was like to have a “real” family, rather than the one in which he’d grown up.

There was also the fact that nearly four weeks after their breakup, Ginny had begun having weird dreams. Last night, she had dreamt about a house where the portraits talked and moved. They had seemed excited about talking with her because she was important to the owner of the house. In the dream she had asked who owned the house, but the portraits wouldn’t tell her, so she left. As she was going out the door, she turned back and promised the portraits she would come back. The dream had faded into something else that Ginny didn’t remember, but the dream about the house remained vivid.

*****

Ginny’s co-workers had been rather giddy the last few days and it wasn’t until she really looked at the break room calendar, upon which someone had stuck a red heart on the block for Tuesday, the fourteenth, that she realized that tomorrow was Valentine’s Day. The whispers the other nurses and even some of the patients engaged in now made sense; everyone but Ginny was making plans for romantic evenings.

Ginny sighed and signed her name to the list for bringing sweets; she’d spend this evening making heart-shaped brownies instead of finalizing her plans for a special evening with her fiancé. A lone tear tracing its way down her cheek was the only evidence that the idea of a solitary Valentine’s Day made her sad. She dashed it away and put a smile on her face as she went back to her patients.

The next morning, Ginny stood before her bureau sifting through her jewellery box for the perfect earrings to wear for the day. Traditionally, she wore a pair of dangly, plastic heart earrings with “Be mine” painted on them, but today, they just looked ridiculous to her. Then, she spied the earrings Harry had given her for Christmas. They were still her favourite and she’d worn them often in the last few weeks, much to the consternation of her fellow nurses who thought her attachment to them was a bit unnatural, seeing that her ex had given them to her. She put them on and magically felt better about getting through a day meant for lovers.

“I still love him,” she admitted to herself as she put on her coat. “I probably always will.” And much to her surprise, she didn’t burst out weeping. Was she finally starting to get over Harry?

Shaking her head, she picked up the box of brownies as she exited her flat and glanced up the street, looking for Harry. Habits were hard to break.

*****

At noon, during the ward Valentine’s celebration, Ginny’s phone buzzed in her pocket. Stepping out into the corridor and then into the women’s loo, she answered the call.

“Ginny, it’s Mum,” her mother’s crisp voice said in her ear. “I was calling to see how you were doing. I know Valentine’s Day can be a bit emotional when you can’t spend it with someone special.”

Ginny sighed. “I’m doing fine, Mum. I made your brownie recipe and used a cutter to make Valentines. They were a hit with morning coffee,” she said. “The scraps will make a yummy ice cream topping tonight while I watch a video.”

“What are you going to see?” her mum inquired.

“ _Pride and Prejudice_ ,” Ginny answered. “Harry and I saw it at the cinema and it just came out on video, so I rented a copy.”

“Are you sure watching something you saw with Harry is a good idea?” her mother asked.

“It’s a good idea because it has a happy ending and I need a happy ending tonight,” Ginny said. “I’m looking forward to getting lost in it.”

“You do that, sweetheart. Call if you need to,” her mum said. Then, she changed the subject. “Is there any possibility you could come down for the weekend? We haven’t seen each other in a while and it would be nice if you could come.”

Ginny looked up her work schedule on her calendar and smiled when she realized she wasn’t scheduled for Saturday or Sunday. “Could someone meet me at the train on Friday night? I get off at four that afternoon.”

Her mother’s voice sounded quite pleased as she said, “Of course, dear. I’ll send Ron down to get you.”

Horrified, Ginny exclaimed, “You wouldn’t dare!”

Her mother snorted into her end of the connection. “Got you! I’ll come for you myself. Let me know when your train gets in. We have a lot to talk about.”

“I look forward to it. See you Friday,” Ginny said as she rang off. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen for her mum’s teasing.

*****

The Weasley Family ate a late supper on Friday evening so that Ginny could be there. There was a large crowd around the table, almost as large as for a Sunday dinner: all of Ginny’s brothers were present, but Jeannine and Charlotte and their children were missing due to an outbreak of flu in both households. Patti and Ron arrived just in time for the meal and Patti insisted on sitting next to Ginny. She didn’t object.

After the debacle at Christmas, Ron had been much less belligerent around Ginny when they were both at the farm. He’d begun bringing Patti with him to Sunday dinners and it seemed the whole family was becoming used to the girl’s inappropriate (for a farm) shoes and some of the airy-fairy things she said sometimes. What had surprised Ginny was the comfort Patti had given her right after Ginny’s breakup. The two had commiserated on several occasions and each time, Ginny had seen there was more to the blond than she’d first thought. She still didn’t like Patti all that much, but at least now she could tolerate sitting next to her and even hold a decent conversation with her. She wondered if some of her dislike was really jealousy due to the fact that Ron was happily in lust and Ginny herself was still grieving her lost relationship with Harry.

At the other end of the table, Ginny heard Bill asking Ron about something he’d heard on the wireless.

“I hear that Creative Constructions and Virtuoso Coders have started a bidding war for your company,” he said. “What’s going on?”

Ron shrugged. “Nothing, so far. At least I haven’t heard anything,” he said between mouthfuls of chicken.

“If someone decided to go after the company I work for, I’d want to know all I could,” Bill said as Charlie and George nodded in agreement.

“That’s just it; they’re rumours,” Ron insisted.

“I heard Video Visions has been having trouble moving its products the last few months,” Percy chimed in. “The public doesn’t seem interested in the games your company is producing.”

“They would if the bigger companies weren’t copycatting our game designs,” Ron said, sounding resentful.

Patti leaned over and whispered to Ginny, “It’s worse than he lets on,” she said in a confidential tone. “Don’t tell Molly or Arthur, but last week my supervisor asked those who don’t use direct deposit to wait a few days to cash our payroll checks.”

“It’s that serious?” Ginny asked in alarm. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since the end of January,” Patti replied. “It seems the company is spending a lot of resources trying to stay solvent, but the executives haven’t a clue how to rebound from their financial crisis.”

Ginny frowned. “One would think that if other companies were copying the game designs, Video Visions would start advertising their products on the telly even more than have done, but I’ve not seen any more adverts than there have been in the past.”

“That’s because all the extra cash is going into development rather than advertising. Ron’s been working on the code for a new game the company has created, one they’re hoping will be more popular with the public and bring in more revenue,” Patti told her. “I’ve hardly seen him this week because his boss is making everyone give free overtime hours to get the game coded before the deadline.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Ginny said.

“It’s not, but if the new game is going to be played on Nintendo’s newest console, the Wii, come November, the coders need to be finished with their part long before that to give the other departments something to work with,” Patti explained, impressing Ginny more than she wanted to admit.

“That makes sense,” Ginny said. “What I don’t understand is why Ron is so nonchalant about what’s happening.”

Patti raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “He isn’t nonchalant, Ginny. In fact, he’s far from it. He’s desperately worried that if the company has to start sacking people because of lack of funds, he’ll be one of the first to go because he was one of the last to be hired,” she explained. “Surely, you know that.”

It was Ginny’s turn to look sceptical. “That makes sense, but Ron and I haven’t had a decent conversation since Fred died,” she said, letting her resentment show, “and until certain things happen, I doubt very much we will ever have a civil conversation. And that would include the stability of his job.”

Patti’s face lost its colour, but there was a steely glint in her eye. “I realize his words hurt you, Ginny, but in his mind, he’s only defending a brother who can no longer defend himself,” she said in a clipped tone before turning to Percy who was sitting on her other side. 

*****

Molly Weasley sat at the foot of the long table and surveyed the people gathered around it. She was proud of her family and considered herself very lucky compared with some of the women she knew from the village. All of her children had gone to university and she was proud of the fact that she and Arthur had managed to finance their tuitions without mortgaging the farm like so many of their friends had. True, they had to take out a few loans, but they were slowly paying them off and with the additional revenue from her alpaca business, Molly knew it was only a matter of time before the last payments were made. It had helped, too, that her children had won scholarships for part or all of their tuition. Only Ron had student loans to worry about, but if he continued to work for a reputable company, he would have those paid back on time.

Over the years, Molly’s family had blossomed as her sons chose their life partners. She loved the women who had joined the family and given her and Arthur so many beautiful grandchildren. When Ginny had brought Harry home, Molly had taken instantly to him. She sensed a quiet desperation for love in Harry that she had seen only a few times and she knew he was deeply in love with her daughter. When they had broken up over the subject of children, it saddened her that Harry couldn’t trust himself to be the kind of father she knew he could become, one Ginny obviously saw in him, too. Molly still wondered about this: it didn’t make sense to her that Harry could be so wonderful with her grandchildren and yet not want children of his own. 

She was also worried about Ginny. Her daughter put on a brave face, had cried only a little and then gone on with her life. However, as Ron’s girlfriend became a fixture at the dinner table, Molly heard her daughter make remarks to Patti that made her wonder if Ginny was jealous of Patti and Ron’s relationship. There wasn’t one specific thing, but there was something in how Ginny pitched her voice that made her wonder.

Her other concern was Ron, not because he seemed to be happily in a relationship, but because the woman he was going out with also worked at his company and that company seemed to be having difficulties staying afloat. Arthur had mentioned the other day that he’d read an article about possible lay-offs in the video game industry. She hoped such dire predictions wouldn’t come true, but if they did, Molly knew her family would rally around Ron until he was back on his feet and back to earning a good living. She fervently hoped that, despite their differences, Ginny would be with the rest of her brothers in supporting Ron.

*****

While the family ate, a young wizard lying in a hospital in London began to dream…

_Several weeks before Christmas, and six months before his final confrontation with Voldemort, Harry met with a wizard who had known his parents. Peter Pettigrew, recently released from Azkaban, was in his early forties, but he looked seventy: his hair was grey, his rat-like face was horribly pale and he was constantly fidgety as he sat across from Harry at a Muggle pub in Manchester._

_“Why meet here?” Pettigrew demanded, his eyes moving constantly._

_“Lots of reasons,” Harry replied, eying the wizard with distrust. “For one thing, you can’t transform here without raising quite a few eyebrows. For another, it’s busy. We can talk freely without worry of being overheard. Both are important to me, especially since I know you’re prone to scurrying away when the pressure’s on.”_

_Pettigrew scowled and began wolfing down the fish and chips Harry had purchased for him. “You said in your note you wanted information,” he mumbled around a mouthful of chips._

_Harry nodded, then took a swig of his lemonade. “How well did you know my parents?”_

_“Well enough,” Pettigrew said, taking a large gulp of his whisky. “I was in the same year as them and shared a dormitory with your father. He and his other friends sometimes asked me to join in their adventures. I had an ability they sometimes required.”_

_“Ah, yes, your Animagus form,” Harry agreed. “That would be handy. I imaging that’s why the Death Eaters wanted you around, too. Do they know you’re free?”_

_Pettigrew shuddered. “No, I keep myself to myself. The Dark Lord wants me back.”_

_“Of course, he does,” Harry agreed. “You’re useful to him.”_

_Pettigrew leered at Harry over the rim of his glass. “I kept his stuff safe.”_

_“What stuff?” Harry demanded softly._

_“You know what I’m talking about,” Pettigrew sneered. “The stuff he entrusted to his most dedicated followers.”_

_Harry knew Pettigrew hadn’t been one of his most dedicated followers but decided not to let on that he knew. “His personal effects? His wand?” he asked._

_“You could say that,” Pettigrew hedged._

_“And you’ve kept what he gave you safe all these years?”_

_At this, Pettigrew actually flinched. “He didn’t give me nuthin’,” he finally said._

_Harry frowned. “You just said…” he trailed off as Pettigrew interrupted him._

_“I took it.”_

_“You stole something from Voldemort?”_

_Pettigrew flinched. “Don’t say the name! I admit, I took a crown the Dark Lord had in his pocket that night in Godric’s Hollow. He used it in a ritual after he killed your dad, so I knew it was valuable,” Pettigrew crowed. Harry shuddered, now knowing the diadem Horcrux had been made with his father’s murder. He focused his attention back on Pettigrew when the other wizard continued, “I found it when I went to retrieve his wand. I knew he’d want it if he ever got his body back.”_

_A chill went through Harry. “You admit to being in my bedroom, watching him kill my mum and you did_ nothing? _” he demanded instead, his voice rising with each word._

_“Yes. No. The Dark Lord wanted me with him, so I transformed and he put me in his pocket when he went into the cottage,” Pettigrew said with a faraway look in his eyes. “It was the closest I’d ever been to my master and it was wonderful! He put me on the floor next to James’ body and ordered me to stay downstairs until he was done with you,” he squeaked, sounding just like the rat he was. He rubbed his left forearm, a manic gleam in his eyes. “I heard your mum scream. It was music to my ears. I changed back and crept up the stairs to watch him kill you. But he had miscalculated your mum’s magic. The spell had backfired and hit him instead. I watched as a wispy gas travelled from the heap of robes to your forehead and settled in your scar. You began to cry, so I grabbed the Dark Lord’s wand and the crown and Disapparated. You know the rest of the story, well, most of it. I kept the crown safe for a long time, then disposed of it when it looked like my master was gone for good.”_

_Harry was silent after Pettigrew finished his story, his mind whirling. Was what Pettigrew said true? Could he be a Horcrux because Voldemort had accidentally made him one? If he was a Horcrux, that would explain a lot of things, mainly his connection to Voldemort and how the other Horcruxes acted around him. The thought was too terrible not to be true._

_He stood up and dropped several Muggle notes on the table and walked out of the pub without saying another word to Pettigrew. He made his way to an empty alley and Disapparated. There was much to talk about with Hermione._

*****

Neville held Hermione’s hand as they walked up the path to the door of her house. It was rather late because the two of them had been with Harry most of the day and then grabbed a bite to eat at a small café close to the hospital.

“Would you like to come in for a bit?” Hermione asked as she tapped the door with her wand. “I make a mean cup of hot chocolate.”

“With a splash of whisky in it?” Neville hedged.

Hermione laughed. “Of course. Come through to the kitchen while I get the drinks ready,” she said as she peeled off her coat and hung it in the cupboard under the stairs. She hung up Neville’s cape and he followed her into the kitchen.

“How close to the end do you think Harry’s dreaming?” he asked, once they were settled at the kitchen table with a plate of chocolate biscuits between them. “The Healers seem to be getting restless.”

“It’s hard to tell,” Hemione sighed. She sipped her chocolate, then continued, “There was so much going on the last six months that Harry could be reliving any number of awful events that led up to the last battle. He was in the thick of things beginning in December with the discovery that he was an accidental Horcrux. He became so reckless!”

She put her mug down, remembering those chaotic times. “Did I tell you that he actually snuck into Hogwarts to get Basilisk fangs from the Chamber of Secrets?”

“Why would he do such a thing?” Neville asked. “That’s suicidal!”

“Neville, from the time Pettigrew told him he was a Horcrux, Harry _was_ suicidal! We had talked at one point, when we didn’t have any of the Basilisk venom we needed, about breaking into Hogwarts in order to try to recover some of the fangs and had dismissed the idea as ridiculous because of the danger. Then, that January, I awoke one morning to Harry sneaking back into the tent, covered in slime and grinning like a loon. 

“He crowed about his accomplishment, holding out one of the fangs for me to see.” She fiddled with her serviette. “He was terribly pleased with himself for dodging nearly a dozen Death Eaters.”

“How did he know about the Basilisk?” Neville asked, thoroughly confused.

“Remember the wild rumours that flew through Hogwarts during the winter term of our third year?” Hermione asked. When he nodded, she said, “They were all true. Lucius Malfoy had slipped me a diary that belonged to sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle — soon to be Lord Voldemort — when I went to get my books before school started. Lonely little me wrote in that diary and eventually he possessed me. Harry’s the one who figured it all out and followed the snake down into the Chamber and rescued me by killing it and the diary.”

Neville stared at her for a long time while trying to wrap his mind around the truth of her story. Finally, he speculated incredulously, “So Harry braved a school full of Death Eaters to get half a dozen snake teeth?”

“Yes! I had never been so furious with Harry as I was at that point, not even when we were rowing about me rebuilding my parents’ house. Neville, he could have been captured trying to get those fangs,” she said, shaking her head. “What hurt the most was that he’d not included me in his mission. He told me afterwards that someone had to be around to know that Nagini had to be killed before anyone could even dream of offing Voldemort. He also hadn’t wanted me to relive my experience in the Chamber, so he went to collect the teeth alone.”

“That sounds very much like the Harry we all knew at school,” Neville said, nodding. “He always put others before himself, no matter how dangerous something was.” He paused, then asked, “So what did you use the fangs for?”

“One of them I ground up to use in potions,” Hermione answered. “I still have the powder because I’ve never needed it. We used one to eliminate the Horcrux in Ravenclaw’s diadem after we found it in that pawnshop in Abergavenny. The rest are stored in Harry’s vault at Gringotts.”

“That’s as good a place as any,” Neville commented. “So, his adventure in the Chamber could be what he was dreaming of tonight?”

Hermione stirred the dregs of her chocolate. “Maybe? Who knows? I can only guess,” she said, sounding helpless.

Neville left his chair and knelt beside Hermione. Taking her hand, he said, “Then you don’t have to guess alone. I’ll be with you as often as the headmaster lets me.”

Hermione turned in her chair and hugged him. “Oh, Neville, thank you!” And to his surprise, she kissed his cheek.

*****

_Harry stepped into the tent to find Hermione hovering over the tiny kitchen workspace, with a Bubble-Head Charm over her head and wearing her dragon hide gloves and a protective apron. The workspace was covered in glass dishes with the remains of the shredded plant parts she had been adding to her tiny cauldron._

_“Hey, Hermione,” he began._

_“Bubble-Head Charm,_ now _, Harry! Protect yourself from the fumes!” she ordered._

_Harry tapped his head with his wand before coming closer, the glass fishbowl supplying the fresh air he hadn’t thought he needed since he had stopped just inside the tent flap. Surprisingly, he felt better, the faint feeling of nausea leaving him. Hermione had told him that one of the symptoms of foxglove poisoning was nausea and he now understood how powerful the potion in Hermione’s cauldron was._

_“Is that it?” Harry asked as he sidled up to her as she gave the mixture in her cauldron one last stir._

_“Yes. It’s quite potent. I can tell from how the steam makes me nauseous. I’ll need to exchange the air in here after it’s done. I don’t want to poison myself by breathing the fumes. Anyway,” Hermione looked up at Harry with a nervous smile, “it needs to simmer, untouched, for forty-five minutes and then cool enough for you to drink it in one go,” she added. “Did you get the bezoar?”_

_“I did,” Harry said as he pulled a small box from his old school bag and put it on the work bench. Hermione sighed, looking relieved, as he added, “And the potion will work because…”_

_“It will work because the foxglove will slow your heartrate so much that your brain is starved for oxygen, resulting in the heart beating so fast that it triggers a heart attack,” she explained. “Hopefully, before this happens, the Horcrux will think its host is dead and will escape, seeking another host and die when there isn’t a prepared vessel for it.” She stopped talking and looked Harry in the eye. “Are you sure you still want to do this?”_

_He nodded grimly. “I’m the last Horcrux before Nagini. The only way to get rid of Riddle is to kill me and the snake. We can’t kill the snake until we’re close to Riddle, so it will have to wait. I trust you, Hermione. I know you’ll keep me from joining my parents prematurely.”_

_An hour later, Harry lay back against the pillows in his bunk and took the smoking goblet from Hermione. “See you on the other side,” he quipped nervously before chugging the potion and making a face at the bitter taste as he handed back the goblet. Almost immediately, the potion began to work and he blacked out from the horrendous pain._

*****

At St. Mungo’s hospital, Hermione and Neville watched Harry intently as he writhed through yet another dream.

“Where in the final sequence do you think he is?” Neville asked.

Hermione responded, thinking out loud, “It’s not the final battle, but we’re close. I can sort of tell what he’s dreaming about because of the types of spells he’s attempting to use. But this one… I’m not so sure. He isn’t casting spells, just moving restlessly like he did when he took the potion to rid himself of the accidental Horcrux. Oh! Maybe that’s what he’s dreaming of!” She paused and considered her evidence. “I also feel more and more magical tension building in him with each dream like it did on the hunt and this one is the worst yet.”

“I feel it, too. Are you afraid of what will happen when he dreams of the final battle?”

“A little, but only time will tell.”

Neville put his arm around her shoulders and she snuggled into his embrace, taking comfort in his presence.

*****

_Harry’s eyes fluttered open to see Hermione dozing in an armchair between the bunk beds in the semi-darkness of the tent. He kept quiet, trying to assess the condition of his body and mind; his chest ached, as did his head, but he didn’t feel any of the prickling or tingling in his scar that he had become so used to since his fifth year. He reached up and touched his scar, finding it sticky; when he pulled his hand back, his fingers were covered in dark smudges and the scar stung like an ordinary cut that had accidentally been reopened. Had the potion worked? Was he Voldemort-free at last?_

_A hand gently caught his wrist, easing his arm over the side of the bunk and he felt the whisper of a cleansing charm on his hand. A moment later, he felt the same spell brush his forehead._

_“Welcome back, Harry,” Hermione whispered. “How are you feeling?”_

_“Did the potion work?” Harry asked, ignoring her query._

_She smiled. “It did,” she told him with a shudder. “The Horcrux is gone, but at what cost, I don’t know.”_

_“Hermione, I knew what I was getting into when I asked you to make the potion for me and then swallowed it. It was the only way to get rid of the piece of Riddle in my head. If I have heart problems for the rest of my life, it will just be another consequence of being the only one who can take him down. Are you all right?” Harry asked, genuinely concerned for his friend._

_“It was scary to watch you go into cardiac arrest and not know how long it would take the Horcrux to realize you were essentially dead,” Hermione told him. “I had to wait until I heard the scream we heard when you destroyed the diadem and the other Horcruxes, which took several minutes. I had the bezoar ready in my lap and when I finally decided to give it to you your scar was bleeding and your lips were blue. I don’t think I breathed until you gasped for breath and I felt your pulse return. You’ve been sleeping for nearly three days. Tell me truthfully, how do you feel?”_

_Harry closed his eyes and did another assessment. “Truthfully, not good,” he sighed. “I ache all over, my scar stings and I have a whopping great headache. Basically, I feel like I stepped in front of the Hogwarts Express and let it hit me. Did I have a seizure like you feared I would?”_

_“You did. That’s the other thing that scared me because it happened right after the bezoar brought you back.”_

_“What happened?”_

_Hermione bit her lip before saying, “You stiffened suddenly and began shaking uncontrollably. It lasted for almost a minute and I just had to sit here and watch after I forced your jaw open with that spell we found.”_

_“I’m sorry I scared you.”_

_“It’s all right, Harry. I’m glad you made it back to me without any complications. Now we need you to get well so we can finish this once and for all.”_

_Harry closed his eyes. “You’ll sleep in your bed and not in the chair, right, Hermione?”_

_He heard her sigh before she said, “I’ll stay here for now, but I promise I’ll sleep in my bed when I’m sure you’re asleep.”_

_Harry turned on his side, trying to ease the dull ache that suffused his body. “’Night, Hermione.”_


	14. Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Neville continue to watch over Harry as he dreams of the war and Ginny attends another Weasley family dinner.

**Chapter 14**

Harry could hear the murmur of voices. They sounded very far off and a bit tinny, but he recognized them and took comfort from them. One was Hermione’s; the other belonged to Neville Longbottom. There was a third, but Harry didn’t recognize it. He concentrated on what Hermione was saying and found she was planning something with the third voice. It was as if she was anticipating a catastrophic event that centred around him.

_What could she be afraid of?_ he asked himself. He listened harder and discovered the two were discussing shielding the other people in the room. _What do they think I’ll do?_

It wasn’t until Neville mentioned accidental magic that the discussion began to make sense to Harry. As he began to slide back into the silent depths that pulled at his consciousness, he resolved to control his magic as much as he could. He really didn’t want to blow up St Mungo’s. That would count as one of his major cock ups…

_It took a month for Harry to recover his strength. Over time and with a lot of rest, his body aches slowly faded until he finally felt like himself again. He was amused that Hermione was so attentive in the days after he’d poisoned himself and one afternoon, to stop her from hovering and asking a million questions about his health, he asked her to get the locket from their cache of ruined Horcruxes._

_“What do you want that thing for?” she asked as she fished in the bottomless bag where she kept their valuables._

_“It’s been over a week and I’m burning to find out if I can still speak Parseltongue,” Harry admitted. “While not having a clue how to form the words will prove that I’m well and truly rid of Riddle, the ability to understand Nagini might come in handy during the battle we’re planning.”_

_“I don’t like it, Harry. If you can still speak Parseltongue, that means you poisoned yourself for nought and he’s still lurking in your head,” she said as she pulled out the locket and handed it to Harry._

_Harry sighed. “Your logic is spot on, Hermione,” he said. “You always know when to temper my wishful thinking.”_

_She smiled at him and gestured towards the locket. “Go on, then.”_

_Harry held it up so he could see what was left of the bejewelled S on the front and concentrated on saying the word “close,” willing the mangled little doors to swing shut. Nothing happened._

_“English,” Hermione said, and she kept saying it for the next fifteen minutes until Harry gave up, concluding that his inability to speak even a familiar word in Parseltongue was evidence that he was no longer attached to a piece of Tom Riddle’s soul._

_As he handed back the locket, he asked, “Have we heard from Professor Longbottom yet?”_

_Hermione smiled. “Yes, an owl left a letter at the Gretna Green Post Office for James Gene and I picked it up this morning when I went into the village,” she said. “Neville says that the non-Death Eater teachers are eager to avenge Professor McGonagall’s death and are surreptitiously preparing for battle.”_

_“And you know all this how?” Harry asked._

_“Disappearing, enchanted ink,” she said smugly. “The last time we met with Neville, I smuggled him a bottle. We’ve been corresponding since last November without being caught after I discovered he was teaching at Hogwarts. He helped me research the potion you took to get rid of Riddle.”_

_“I’ll have to thank him,” Harry said. “Did he have any suggestions for how to get Voldemort to Hogsmeade and the students out of the castle?”_

_“He had several and I like this one because it’s so simple…”_

_Over the next several hours he and Hermione finalized their plans to trick Tom Riddle and his Death Eaters into coming to Hogsmeade and then what needed to be done once they arrived. This second phase was new to their battle planning, mostly because they didn’t want to repeat what happened in Little Hangleton at the beginning of the war when they didn’t know what would happen once they lured Voldemort to a location. When at last they sat back and surveyed their work, Harry looked at Hermione and said, “Thank you. I couldn’t have planned this without you.”_

_“You could have, but it would have been harder and would have taken much longer for you to suss out all the possibilities, problems, and solutions on your own.”_

_“Yeah, two heads are better than one!”_

The dream concluded and Harry heard a small sigh and a low chuckle and wondered if he had managed to stop his magic from escalating out of control. The only way he would know was if Hermione and Neville talked about it. He had his answer a few moments later as Neville said:

“He was calmer tonight, wasn’t he?”

Hermione’s tone was filled with relief. “I think he was. The Healers were right about Harry allowing himself to dream or reminisce while I’m here. Maybe he heard us discussing the shielding of the ward earlier,” she mused.

“Whatever he’s doing I hope he keeps it up. I’m not looking forward to coping with the aftermath of the last battle a second time,” Neville commented.

“Neither am I.”

Chairs scraped across the floor as someone stood up. Neville’s voice was full of regret as he bid Hermione farewell. “I’ll see you next Friday,” he said.

Hermione responded and the two walked away from Harry’s bed. He wondered when the change in their friendship had taken place as he turned over and sank into restful sleep.

*****

Ron Weasley closed the door to his supervisor’s office and leaned against the wall next to it. He couldn’t believe he’d been offered only a part-time position for the next year, less than twenty hours a week! He had heard rumours about what the management was doing to other employees, cutting back their hours or outright letting them go, but he had thought himself safe… and now here he was, his hours cut to the minimum with the very frightening thought that he was essentially unemployed! How could he keep his flat and his car on so little renumeration? He would most likely need to move back in with his parents in order to survive and he definitely didn’t want to do that!

_At least I have a letter of recommendation for my CV_ , he thought sourly.

He pushed away from the wall with a monumental sigh and trudged back to his desk. He had been given two days’ notice before he had to inform his supervisor of his decision to stay with the company or seek other employment. He had a lot of thinking to do by Friday.

A knock on his cubicle wall made him look up. Bert, a coder who had been hired at the same time as Ron, stood there, looking grim.

“You, too?” he asked.

“Yeah. I have until Friday to tell them whether I’m taking their offer or not,” Ron said miserably.

“Don’t take it, Ron,” Bert urged. “You’ll just be miserable staying here, knowing that the management’s forcing out good people and slowly running the company into the ground. Take what you’re due and go look for a better job. That’s what I’m doing.”

Ron sighed. “When’s your last day?” he asked.

“Friday,” Bert answered.

“I may have to join you at the exit,” Ron said, and began cleaning out his desk.

*****

_A bouquet of flowers appeared in a flat window. Harry looked up to see the most beautiful woman standing behind it._

_“Ginny…” he mumbled. “My Ginny…”_

*****

_Ginny’s hair fluttered in the wind as she passed him on her bicycle. “C’mon, slow poke,” she teased. “Ride like the wind. It’s fun!”_

_Harry leaned forward and began peddling faster. “I’ll show you who’s a slow poke,” he laughed as he zoomed by. The speed was invigorating; he hadn’t had so much fun in years. Looking over his shoulder at Ginny, he knew there was something magical about this woman who had chosen him as her friend._

_“Ginny…” he mumbled. “My Ginny…”_

*****

_The fire burned low in the grate, unnoticed by the two people occupying the sofa, they were so wrapped up in each other. One of his hands was under her blouse, the other tangled in her long, red hair. She stroked the nape of his neck and caressed the burn scars across his shoulders. Their lips met yet again in a passionate kiss…_

_A murmur escaped him, “Oh, Ginny. My Ginny…”_

*****

Hermione jumped a little as a hand appeared in front of her nose, holding a Starbuck’s cup with the tantalizing aroma of her favourite cinnamon latte wafting towards her.

“Neville! It’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed, putting down her book and taking the cup from him. She took a sip, savouring the drink as it slid down her throat. “Mmm. Thank you. I didn’t know you knew about Starbucks.” 

Neville grinned at her. “You’ve had empty cups with the logo on them sitting on the floor beside your chair the last couple of weeks, so I decided to find out what you were drinking,” he told her. “I much prefer their selection of tea.”

She put her cup on the floor and conjured a chair for him. “My traditional Englishman,” she giggled. “Come and sit a spell.”

Neville grinned and hugged her before taking his seat. “How have you been?” he asked.

“I’m doing all right,” she admitted. “I now have a routine that allows time for work, Harry-minding, and me-time.”

“Harry-minding?” Neville chuckled.

“I know it sounds stupid, but that’s essentially what I’m doing,” she said, making a sweeping motion with her hand that took in the bed, its occupant and the chairs she had conjured. “I just didn’t know what this was until I heard a co-worker talk about calling her minder to tell her she’d be late coming home. The term just popped into my head after hearing that. It fits exactly what I’m doing.”

Neville nodded. “You still watching him go through the Battle?” he asked.

“Not the battle moment by moment, but rather like chapters in a book or episodes of a telly programme. It’s as if he’s watching at certain times because the healers say he sleeps when I’m not here,” she told him.

“I think Harry knows when you’re here and when you aren’t. He knows he’s safe when you’re here, I think. My parents are the same way, the healers say, because they’re more active when I’m visiting, apparently,” he said.

Hermione glanced over at Harry, recognizing the tell-tale signs that he was beginning to live through another episode. 

*****

_“I’ve found it!” Harry exclaimed, holding up a piece of parchment upon which he had been scribbling possible spells for the last half hour._

_Hermione hurried over to Harry’s bunk and sat down on the edge. She took his clipboard and turned the book of spells he’d been looking through towards her. “Yes, Discedere Vitae, Depart Existence gives a direct command… rather elegant, I might add…”_

_Harry grinned. “It’s definitely easier to shout in the heat of battle than that four-word phrase I had decided on earlier.”_

_“The only problem I see might be the amount of power and the intensity of intent needed to fuel the spell,” Hermione said, frowning. “At least with Eadem Autem Exsistentia Relinquo, which tells the victim to leave this existence, we knew exactly what it does to the victim and what it would take from the caster because it’s been used before with documentation. We don’t know what the new spell will require.” She was quiet for a moment. Then, she asked, “Do you want me to find some spiders?”_

_Harry sighed. “Yes, but only one. I’m getting rather tired.”_

_Hermione left the tent and returned ten minutes later with a spider in a jar. “You look knackered, Harry. I’ll do it,” she said, lifting her wand towards the jar._ “Discedere Vitae! _” she commanded and not only did the spider die, it and the jar vanished._

_“You all right?” Harry asked, concerned at the pallor that had suffused Hermione’s face._

_She sank onto the bunk. “I suppose… That’s one powerful spell, Harry.”_

_Harry sighed. “It has to be. Tom’s not going to hit me with something that tickles, is he?”_

_“I suppose not.” She paused. “I’m just worried about your existence after he departs this earth.”_

_He closed the book and put it on the floor followed by his clipboard. “Me, too, Hermione. If the spell takes all my magic, I do know how to live as a Muggle,” he joked. When she scowled at him, he shrugged and said, “OK, I’ll stop joking about it. I’ll try the spell tomorrow and see what happens then.”_

_Hermione patted his shoulder. “Get some sleep, Harry. I’ll keep watch.”_

The dream seemed to end as Hermione and Neville watched Harry roll over in bed and sigh in his sleep.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Neville,” Hermione whispered. “Watching Harry relive some of these experiences has been scary. You help me find my Gryffindor courage.”

Neville put his arm around her waist and Hermione lay her head on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head and she looked up into his brown eyes. A moment later, they were kissing and she felt herself melt against him.

He broke the kiss moments later, saying, “Wow! Hermione, let’s get out of here. Erm, we need more privacy.”

Hermione breathed slowly through her nose, calming her pounding heart. “Where are we going?” she asked breathlessly as she quickly gathered her things and Vanished their chairs.

“I know just the place,” Neville said with an enigmatic smile. He held out his hand to her. “Come with me…”

*****

_The look on her face said it all. “You don’t want children?” she asked slowly. “I don’t believe that for one minute.”_

_“Well, I don’t. I won’t be like Vernon, and if I have kids, I know I’ll be like him,” Harry stated stubbornly._

_“You’ll never be like Vernon, Harry. There’s too much good in you,” Ginny said._

_“I won’t take that risk, I can’t,” he said, forcing his voice to remain calm. Then shutting his eyes tightly, he raised his wand arm that felt like lead as he shouted, “Obliviate!”_

_She walked out of his life._

_“Ginny…” he mumbled. “My Ginny… I love you…”_

*****

Neville led Hermione to a secluded corridor two floors above Harry’s and Side-Along Apparated her to his grandmother’s estate, specifically, his greenhouse. While he now owned the property — he’d buried Augusta Longbottom a year after the war ended — he still thought of the house as belonging to his grandmother while the greenhouses in the garden had always been his. The place now had an overgrown look that came from his frequent absences due to his teaching schedule at Hogwarts, but the plants were thriving and he was still proud to bring Hermione here to his special place.

“Where are we?” Hermione asked as he led her to a corner furnished with a small settee, a low table and several chairs.

“My greenhouse at Longbottom House,” he answered. “This is where I grew up, learning about plants from my grandad and listening to him tell me stories about my father. He died when I was ten, so he never knew I actually made it to Hogwarts.”

Hermione cocked her head to one side, looking thoughtful. “Harry would say your grandad knows just how successful you are, Neville,” she said. “He would also say your grandad is proud of you and your accomplishments.”

“Yes, I think that’s exactly what Harry said to me one time we were discussing the subject over a game of chess. It’s nice to know that you think the same as Harry.”

“I do, so could you show me what you’re proudest of accomplishing in this greenhouse, please?”

Neville smiled and tugged on her hand. He led her to a table a few feet away where a familiar plant sat in pride of place surrounded by trays of seedlings. “I think you recognize my _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ ,” he said. Hermione nodded, seeming to wait for him to continue. “I’m proudest of this because I’ve kept it alive since fifth year and it’s helped me learn about the life cycle and usefulness of plants. 

“Right now, I have three experiments going, and one tray of control seedlings.” He pointed to the nearest tray on their left. “These plants provide a concentrated strain of Stink Sap used in an experiment I’m doing jointly with the Healers at St Mungo’s that might help them cure Spattergroit better than the conventional remedy. The plants in the tray behind that one have sap that is the key ingredient in a new magical cleaner I’ve invented. The tray on the back right holds the control seedlings and in the tray to our right are seedlings I’m preparing to use in another experiment.”

“That’s really impressive,” Hermione said. “Will you be writing articles about your experiments in herbology journals?”

“I’ve already had one published on the cultivation and growth of the _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ , which paid rather well and impressed the heck out of the headmaster,” Neville said shyly. “Not very many read the article, though. I suppose the subject was rather boring to those who don’t love the plant.”

“Don’t put yourself down, Neville,” Hermione scolded. “You’re doing great things and I’m proud of you.”

She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. He turned his head and captured her lips with his, then gently began walking her backwards toward the settee. When they reached it, they sank down and Neville deepened the kiss, claiming her mouth as she slid into his lap.

*****

At Sunday dinner, Ron told his family he’d decided to look for a new job, since the offer he’d received from Video Visions wasn’t enough to keep himself afloat. He assured them that he had enough saved to get through the next few months and now that he was an experienced coder, he thought companies would want to hire him more readily than they had two years ago. The rest of the meal was rather subdued, although his brothers were rather sympathetic.

As everyone was leaving the table after the meal, a hand on his shoulder made him look up. He was surprised to see Ginny standing next to him.

“I’m sorry it came to this, Ron,” she said sincerely. “I know you really liked that job. Er, if you’re in London for interviews, you always have a place to stay with me. My sofa is quite comfortable.”

He smiled miserably. “I just might have to take you up on that offer, Ginny,” he said, and pushed away from the table. He gestured for her to follow him into the living room. It was time to apologize for how he had acted the last couple of years. 

“We need to talk,” he told her as he closed the door to give them a little privacy. “Er, I need to talk.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “All right. What do you want to talk about?”

“Ginny, I’m sorry for being so horrible to you over the last couple of years. I never should have blamed you for Fred’s death, never should have suggested you had anything to do with it. I’m sorry that what I said the night we lost him got you fired from your job. I was jealous of the time you made in your schedule to be with Fred at the end and it wasn’t fair of me to accuse you of manipulating him into giving you more money from his estate than he did me. You made him feel loved at the end. I didn’t.”

Ginny was silent for a long moment before she said, “I should be angry with you for what you did and said to me over the last two years, but it would take too much energy. I’m not sure we can ever go back to the way we were before Fred got sick, but I accept your apology and want to help any way I can.”

Ron smiled sadly. “Thank you for that. I’ll let you know if I need to crash on your sofa. Percy and Mia offered their guest room, but a sleep-over with my sister sounds like a little more fun,” he told her.

“I’m not as stuffy as he is?” she grinned.

“Yeah, something like that,” he said. “Hug?”

“Of course,” she said, stepping into his open arms.

It felt good to hug his sister. If he admitted it to himself, he had missed her and their easy companionship over the last two years.

*****

Ginny stood in Ron’s embrace and fought back her tears. She was still angry with Ron, but her talks about him with Harry had dulled the ache and tempered the harshness of her feelings so that she could now look at their situation without wanting to reduce her brother to a quivering pile of jelly. Now, all she had to do was rein in her manic emotions so he wouldn’t think he’d upset her. She sniffed despite her best efforts.

Ron pulled back. “Hey,” he murmured, “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

She sighed and fumbled for a tissue. “Don’t mind me,” she said. “Ever since I broke up with Harry, I cry at the silliest things. I’ve turned into a regular hosepipe. Anything sentimental can turn on the waterworks. I’ve cried enough tears in the last six weeks to fill the duck pond.”

He embraced her again. “Probably not the pond, it’s rather large, but if you want to talk about him, I’d like to know about the bloke who loved you enough to turn you into a girl,” he said, eliciting a ragged chuckle from her.

Ginny pulled back, a watery smile on her face. “I’ve always been a girl, you dolt,” she said.

“Nu-uh, up until we were about thirteen you were always one of my brothers,” Ron said, grinning. “It wasn’t until you started wearing dresses and skirts without Mum prompting you that I had to change the way I thought about you.”

“Oh, that does make sense in a weird sort of way,” she said, turning towards the sofa and sitting down at one end. Ron joined her at the other end and swung his long legs up onto the cushions. Ginny did the same, taking the relaxed position she had often taken when they were younger. “So, what do you want to know about Harry?”

“Well, the basics: how did you meet, what attracted you to him enough to go on a second date with him? What sets him apart from all the other blokes you’ve dated? That sort of stuff,” Ron said, ticking his points off on his fingers.

Ginny sighed. This was going to be hard, but maybe it might help her sort out her feelings for Harry. “To answer your first question, Harry used to walk past my flat window every day early in the morning and again in the evening after I got home from work,” she began. She told Ron about how she’d been intrigued by Harry’s slow, determined pace and how she’d placed the flower arrangement in her window to see if he’d notice. She talked about how chivalrous Harry was, the amount of courage he had to have been hurt in the war and then finish his tours of duty, and what a confidante she had discovered in him. “We’re a lot alike,” she finished. “We like many of the same things, so conversation comes effortlessly. It’s funny how he had never gone to see a film or ridden a bicycle until he met me. But what sets him apart from all the others I’ve dated is that he makes me feel important.”

“Then why did you break up?” Ron asked. “This bloke seems too good to be true!”

A melancholy sigh escaped before Ginny could contain it. “He doesn’t want children,” she told Ron. “At least that’s what he said the night we broke up.” She paused, rubbing the place where her engagement ring used to be, and then added, “But I just can’t understand it. One of the things Harry wanted most as he grew up was another child his age who would be nice to him, unlike his cousin who bullied him, and how he used to listen to his classmates’ conversations about siblings with such envy that he often had to walk away. Ron, I know deep down that Harry wants children, but he’s afraid he’ll turn out to be like the only role model of a father he had… a bully who lashed out with fists and words and never apologized for the injuries he caused.”

Ron was silent for a long time before he said, “Ginny, I think I understand where Harry is coming from, why he might think the way he does and what he fears. I was that person to you since Fred died. There’s a rage that consumes all rational thought when it’s triggered and while it has hold of you, you’re powerless to resist it. I think that’s what Harry is afraid of when he says he won’t make a good father.”

“That makes sense, but I just can’t accept it. You didn’t see him with our nieces and nephews the Sunday we announced our engagement to the family. He was down on the floor playing with them, he told them stories about magical plants and beings; Tory was absolutely fascinated with them. I think Jill and Damien understood just enough to enjoy the stories, and because Harry had come down to their level, they all accepted him readily… and you know how shy Damien is,” Ginny sighed. She closed her eyes and tried to conquer her emotions. “Oh, Ron, I still love him so much that I can’t sleep sometimes. What am I going to do?”

Ron swung his legs off the sofa and leaned forward to hug her, saying, “Take it one day at a time. That’s all you can do.” Then he added, “Either that or show me where he lives and I’ll knock his block off the next time he leaves his house.”

Ginny pushed him away and surged to her feet. “You’ll do no such thing, Ron Weasley, or I’ll tell Mum that you’ve practically moved in with Patti.”

Ron had the grace to look affronted. “You wouldn’t dare,” he sputtered.

“Try me,” she challenged.

They looked at each other for a long moment and then burst into laughter. It felt good to act like brother and sister again, she reflected as they embraced.

*****

One of Hermione’s weekly habits was to stop in at Grimmauld Place to make sure that the few plants Harry owned were watered and no one had broken in. This day, she was earlier than usual, so she decided to take a walk past Ginny’s flat. It was a rather mild afternoon and after being cooped up underground with only fake weather to look at through the “window” in her office, she relished the opportunity to stretch her legs while she watched a real sunset.

As she walked, she pondered the wisdom of possibly eavesdropping on Ginny’s conversation with someone. However, she justified her intentions by telling herself that she was just making sure the other woman was handling her break-up well. Harry would want to know.

Ginny was indeed at home. In fact, she was standing next to an old Ford Anglia with a man who had the same colour hair as she did. Hermione instantly knew this was one of Ginny’s brothers and quickly Disillusioned herself and then cast a charm that amplified their voices so that only she could hear them clearly. Then, she stood behind a small lorry and focused her attention on Ginny and her companion.

“Thanks for letting me use your sofa, Ginny,” the man said. “It helped a lot that I didn’t have to drive three hours both ways for the interview today.”

“When will you know whether you have been hired or not?” Ginny asked.

“Sometime next week. They said they’d email me with their decision. I’m hoping for a message containing the time for a second interview. I’ll let you know if I’m coming back to London soon.”

“You know you can always stay here on a moment’s notice, Ron.”

“Thank you, Gin-Gin.” There was a pause during which Ron exclaimed, “Ow!”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not two!” came Ginny’s response. “Next time, I won’t aim high.”

The two were silent, and then they bid each other good-bye, Ginny asking Ron to pass on her greeting to someone called Patty.

Hermione cancelled her charms as the Anglia drove away. She smiled to herself. It sounded as if Ginny had adjusted well and was even talking to this Ron. She remembered that Harry had mentioned a row between Ginny and her brother and wondered if they had reconciled. This was good news that she could pass on to Harry, if he ever woke up.

With a spring in her step, she completed her walk back to Grimmauld Place, gathered her belongings and Apparated to St Mungo’s for an evening of Harry-minding.

*****

At last Harry began to dream of the final battle. Neville noticed the change in Harry’s magic first. Hermione heaved a sigh of relief and went to alert the Healers, who erected a special shield around Harry’s bed to protect the other patients. The Healers had tried to persuade her not to sit next to Harry’s bed, due to the very real danger evoked by his wild magic that had continued to build with every dream until last week, but she refused to leave his side. Somehow, she knew that Harry would never harm her…

_Several days after they had finalized their plans to lure Voldemort to Hogsmeade, Harry stood in the Hogwarts Great Hall covered in dust and spattered with blood, having fought his way into the Hall from the upper corridors. He was certain the castle’s defenders would have been long dead if it hadn’t been for his and Hermione’s discovery of the room full of suits of armour. The armour had taken the brunt of the Death Eaters’ attacks by forming a defensive barrier around the castle until civilian reinforcements began appearing in the village and in the secret passageways into the castle. Their lines had eventually collapsed, but by that time, the defenders were ready. Neville and his predecessor, Professor Sprout, had organized the flora defence using magical plants to disorient, confuse and kill anyone unlucky enough to be hit by a flying mandrake, chomping cabbage or Venomous Tentacula. Professor Flitwick and his merry band of seventh year Ravenclaws had organized mixed teams of fighters, both adult and student, who employed specialized spells and duelling techniques to keep the invaders hopping, while other teachers had used their specialities to creatively augment the defences, once the Death Eater teachers in the castle were bound and magically quarantined._

_A hush had fallen over the assembled fighters as Lord Voldemort faced Harry, his snake-like face red with fury. At his feet lay the body of his pet snake, Nagini. She had been decapitated moments before by Hermione who had trailed behind him under Harry’s Invisibility Cloak and when the opportunity came, had separated her head from her body._

_“You’re going to pay for this, Potter!” Voldemort snarled. He raised his wand at Harry who merely smiled at him and yanked open a small pouch that was attached to his belt._

_“I’m sure I am because that snake was the last of your Horcruxes,” Harry replied as he drew out a small, black book with a hole in the middle. “You also need to know that you are no longer immortal. I found every one of your other Horcruxes and destroyed them, starting with this diary that Lucius Malfoy put amongst a friend’s school books nearly ten years ago.” He tossed the book on the floor at Voldemort’s feet._

_“How dare—”_

_“I did dare, and I succeeded! You are now just as mortal as the rest of us, so you’ve lost your bid for eternal life!”_

_Voldemort’s face contorted in rage. “LIAR!” he bellowed and cast his first spell at Harry._

_Harry, who had been expecting the Killing Curse, nimbly jumped out of the way of the spell that gouged a six-inch-deep hole in the flagstone floor at Harry’s feet. Bits of stone flew in all directions, most of them hitting Harry’s legs. Without taking his eyes off his opponent, Harry cast his own spell, a non-verbal version of the_ Tarantallegra _spell, and then quickly repaired the floor._

_Voldemort just stepped out of its way. “You can do better than that,” he taunted. “That spell is for first years!”_

_“It might not have been,” Harry replied cheekily as Voldemort cast another spell. Harry ducked under it and returned fire with a spell that caught the edge of Voldemort’s robe on fire. He quickly extinguished the blaze and sent another spell towards Harry._

This is going to take forever _, Harry thought as they continued to trade rather mundane spells._ He’s just playing with me like Bellatrix does. I need to wear him down. 

_It seemed that Voldemort had the same thought because his next spells came thick and fast, causing Harry to throw up a Shield Charm to protect himself. He side-stepped several times to get out of Voldemort’s direct line of fire, dropped his shield and sent his reply back at his opponent. From then on, the two cast as fast as they could._

_Harry conjured arrows which Voldemort transfigured into daggers. Harry turned those into a swarm of Fanged Frisbees. The Frisbees engulfed Voldemort and he bellowed with rage as their teeth sliced into his robes. Voldemort converted the Frisbees he didn’t destroy into birds that were more distracting than destructive to Harry, but they allowed Voldemort to slip the first of many cutting curses past Harry’s shield. Harry retaliated with cutting curses of his own, landing more than he thought possible. Unfortunately, Voldemort was just as successful at finding new targets on Harry’s chest, arms and shoulders. The lacerations themselves weren’t deep, but they stung enough to side-track Harry’s attention. His casting faltered for several seconds until he was able to block the pain of each new cut enough to carry on with the fight._

_As the duel wore on, the crowd surrounding the two widened the circle around them, Death Eaters and defenders pressing together around the walls of the Great Hall in order to not be hit by errant spells. While the spectators in the hall were deathly silent, Harry could still hear sounds of combat coming from other parts of the castle. It heartened him to know that he wasn’t a spectacle for everyone and he renewed his efforts to take down Voldemort. With this resolve, his spells grew more lethal with each passing minute, but so did Voldemort’s; the simple curses and jinxes they had used at the beginning of the duel gave way to spells meant to maim or kill and the longer Harry dodged, cast and defended against Voldemort’s curses, the wearier he became. Just as he was beginning to think that Voldemort had the stamina of a race horse, his reaction time, too, began to slow; both were breathing hard by now and it had become harder and harder for Harry to vary the spells he used._

_Voldemort’s next spell was a bright blue ball of energy that Harry didn’t dodge quite fast enough. The spell hit his left arm and Harry heard the horrible crack as his arm bones separated at the shoulder and elbow. The force of the spell knocked him to the ground. He lay there, dazed and racked with pain, as he watched Voldemort advance on him slowly, step by agonizing step, until the distance between them guaranteed the next spell would find its mark._

I’m not going to die like this! _Harry thought and pulled himself to his feet, his left arm dangling uselessly at his side._

_“Very brave of you, Harry Potter,” Voldemort chortled, “but I’ve won. You’re broken. You’re in pain, very satisfying pain, I might add. Let me give you a little more._ Crucio! __

_Once again, Harry collapsed on the floor, crying out as the spell ravaged him, keenly aware of every nerve ending in his body. When at last the spell was lifted, he pushed himself to his feet, happy to find his wand still clutched in his right hand._

_“Did you enjoy that, Harry?” Voldemort asked in a conversational tone._

_Instead of answering, Harry silently cast_ Reducto _, aiming his wand at Voldemort’s knees. Voldemort blocked the spell as Harry pushed himself to his feet again._

_“I tire of your paltry spells,” he said, sounding bored. “_ Corrumpere Corpore Cor Et Animam Meam! _” he shrieked._

_Harry began moving as soon as the first word of the incantation left Voldemort’s lips. He wrenched his body to the side, spinning away from the spell. It caught him under his left armpit as the useless limb twirled with him at shoulder height, and ripped his body open diagonally from left to right. Blood gushed from the wound as Harry stopped moving and raised his own wand one last time._

_“_ Discedere Vitae! _” he gasped, and felt the magic leave his body. The spell arced gracefully towards Voldemort as Harry guided it with his wand. Only when he saw the spell engulf its target did he succumb to the darkness that his injuries had wrought._

_***** _

_In a St Mungo’s hospital bed, surrounded by friends and Healers, Harry James Potter awoke. His magic didn’t burst from him as everyone feared, he just opened his eyes._

_“How long have I been here?” he asked while reaching for Hermione’s hand._

_**A/N:** Voldemort’s spell, Corrumpere Corpore Cor et Animam Meam, means “corrupt body, mind and soul.”_

_Thank you for reading and reviewing my chapters. Each review spurs me on and I enjoy responding to every one of them. Thank you, too, to Melindaleo, Mutt n Feathers, Brennus, and Cackling Stump. Your comments and questions help make the story better._


	15. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's awake and enjoying life, Ginny continues to dream, Ron is discouraged and Hermione is her usual nosey self.

**Author’s Note:** This chapter is full of action. All of our favourite characters feature in at least one section, so those of you who are wondering about what’s happening with a certain character, now will know how he or she is doing.

When she first read the chapter, Melindaleo was concerned that in the first section Harry had sat up with enough energy to jump out of bed and start doing magic. That’s not what’s happened. All he’s done is open his eyes and ask a question. After six weeks in a coma, he’s very weak and still needs his Healers’ care. I appreciate Melindaleo’s concern for Harry as well as her other comments as I do those of Brennus, Mutt N Feathers, and Cackling Stump.

I also look forward to any reviews you, my readers, wish to share with me. As many of you know, I always write back.

*****

**Chapter 15**

With an audible pop, the Healers’ Shield Spells dissolved, rendering them astonished and speechless.

Hermione gasped, “ _Harry_!” and then launched herself at him, grabbing him in a fierce hug that threatened to strangle him.

“Oh, Harry! I’m so glad you’re all right,” she gushed. “I’ve been so worried!”

Harry patted her on the back. “You don’t have to worry any more, sis,” he told her, using the sobriquet they had become accustomed to during the Horcrux hunt. “I’m all right.” His voice cracked on the last word and his throat hurt as he forced himself to talk.

“But how? You’ve been doing accidental magic, acting out what you’re dreaming, and calling people’s names for the last six weeks, ever since I brought you here,” Hermione told him as Neville held a glass of water and a straw to his lips. Harry sipped eagerly, grateful that his friend had anticipated his need for water. “We thought you’d finish the last battle and blow up the hospital as you cast your last spell,” she concluded.

“I heard you talking to someone a while ago. You were concerned about the safety of others, so I tried to back off and be in better control,” Harry admitted, glad the water had soothed his throat.

“That’s good of you, mate,” spoke up Neville. “Hermione was also concerned that you’d wake up as mean and ornery as you did last time. What’s different?”

Harry was silent for a long time, making Hermione think that he didn’t want to tell them. Finally, he said, “It was Ginny, and knowing that I had found the love that Voldemort was trying to deny me. I had her love for six months…”

Hermione batted at a tear that slid down her cheek before she could stop it. “Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry you had to Obliviate her,” she whispered. 

“It couldn’t be helped, what with the Statute and all,” Harry mumbled to the ceiling. He sighed deeply, his expression bleak. “I just hope she doesn’t think too badly of me, what I made her think.”

“Miss Granger, Mr Longbottom, I know you want to bring Mr Potter up to date on what has been happening, but I need to get some initial readings on Mr Potter’s health, the sooner the better,” interrupted one of the Healers.

Hermione and Neville quickly stood. “We’ll see you in an hour,” she told Harry, and quickly grabbed Neville’s hand and pulled him from the ward.

*****

Harry lounged against his headboard, propped up by several pillows, leafing through a Muggle newspaper that Hermione had saved for him. He had asked specifically for the Muggle news because anything the _Daily Prophet_ had to say was mostly sensationalism; it hadn’t improved one iota since the war ended, mostly because Rita Skeeter and others like her were still printing what he considered rubbish rather than real news.

He turned a page and found the business section. While he really wasn’t all that interested in the stock market, he did know that his investment portfolio through Gringotts included some Muggle holdings that his father had made years ago. He checked the listings and was pleased to see that they were doing well. Harry turned another page and gaped at a headline:

**Video Visions CEO Indicted for Misappropriation of Funds**

_Why does that company sound familiar?_ Harry asked himself. He read through the article quickly. The company had gone bankrupt just a week ago, leaving most of its employees without jobs or salaries or even their pensions. When he reached the part of the article that summarized some of the company’s past successes, one of the video game titles triggered his memory. _Oh, yeah, Ginny’s brother, Ron, worked there!_ He recalled that Ron was the brother who had hurt Ginny so badly and for a brief moment, he thought that Ron had reaped what he deserved. Then, he thought again; no one, not even Ron, deserved to be sacked because of management wrongdoing, and to be happy about someone losing their job was just plain callous. Harry re-read the article, now concerned about Ginny’s brother.

Had Ron been able to get another job yet? Was he relying on family for support? Had Ginny reconciled with Ron enough to be willing to help him, because Harry knew that was the kind of person Ginny was.

Harry gathered the business sections from several papers and stacked them in chronological order with the most recent at the bottom and began tracking Video Visions’ downward spiral into bankruptcy. When Hermione joined him after dinner, Harry had a very good idea of what had happened and how it affected the employees. He also had the beginnings of a plan that he was as yet unwilling to share with Hermione or anyone else.

*****

It took a week for the owl he’d sent to Gringotts to come back with an answer and by that time, Harry had been released from hospital with many promises _not_ to do any more magic. The bird now perched on the back of one of the kitchen chairs at Grimmauld Place, eying him imperiously before sticking out its leg so that he could take the letter it carried. The message was short and to the point. Griphook expressed the bank’s relief that Harry was once again at home and that a lesser-ranking goblin, knowledgeable in Muggle monetary affairs, would call on Harry at half past two the following day, a most unusual occurrence for the goblins. In spite of himself, Harry felt rather privileged; wizards were expected to go to the goblins and not the other way around. Grinning, he quickly scribbled his reply and gave it back to the owl, which took off immediately.

Harry was in a very good mood when Hermione joined him for dinner that evening.

“What are you so happy about?” she inquired as she hung her coat on the coat tree by the front door.

“I’ve had a relatively easy day, I didn’t mess up the new recipe I tried for dinner, and I’m happy you could come to spend the evening with me,” he replied. Then, he added, “It’s just good to be in my own home and away from pestering Healers. What about you?”

“I had a good day, too, Harry,” she replied.

They traded small talk as he dished up their meal and she set the table. When they were settled, Harry asked, “Do you have any news about Ginny?”

Hermione paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. “What do you want to know?” she asked, sounding cautious. 

Harry immediately pounced on her tone. “Have you seen her?” he asked hopefully.

Hermione set her fork back on her plate. “I’ve seen her twice,” she replied, not looking at him. “Once on the day I took you to St Mungo’s and then about three weeks ago when I was out for a walk.”

“What was she doing that second time? Was she out for a walk, too? Going to work, coming home from work? What was her mood? Was she with someone or by herself?” Harry fired the questions in such rapid succession that Hermione began to giggle. “What’s so funny?”

“If that’s what I sound like when I’m talking to you, I now understand why you get so annoyed at me sometimes,” she said. She picked up her fork again.

“Oh, sorry,” Harry said sheepishly. He waited a few seconds while Hermione finished chewing. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“What about Ginny?”

“Oh, her. She seems… to be doing all right.”

“Meaning…” Harry leaned forward over his plate.

“We didn’t speak, if that’s what you’re asking. I was across the street, walking past her flat. She was standing on her doorstep, talking to a red-haired man, saying good-bye to him, actually.”

“Did she sound angry? Friendly?”

“Friendly. Apparently, he’d spent the night on her sofa so that he could go to an interview. She invited him back.”

Harry thought this over. Had Ron apologized? It sounded as if he and Ginny had reconciled. “Did she say anything about a new boyfriend? Any dinner dates? Did she say his name?”

Hermione laughed again. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think your name was Lavender,” she chortled.

“Lavender? Why?” Harry asked, a little chagrined. Lavender Brown had been the biggest gossip in all of Hogwarts when Harry was in school. She and her best friend, Parvati Patil, were just as brave as the rest of Gryffindor House, but with the added component that if there was something to be learned about the latest fashion, who had detention and why, or who was going out or breaking up with whom, those two were the ones in the know. Harry had been on their top ten most-talked-about list more times than he could count and just the mention of Lavender and her list made him cringe.

“Think about what you asked me,” Hermione said. 

“Oh. I guess I do sound like Lavender.” He felt his face heat up.

“I’ll let you off the hook just this once, Harry,” Hermione said, seeming to take pity on him. “The only thing I heard her say was that Ron was to say hello to someone called Patty. They hugged and then he drove off. I waited until the flat door shut to cancel my Disillusionment Charm.

“Why do you want to know so much about Ginny? You were the one to push her away.” 

Harry sighed and ate a few bites before answering. “I’m still in love with Ginny,” he admitted quietly.

Hermione reached across the table. “Of course, you are, Harry. I won’t be surprised if it takes you a very long time to move on from her because once you love someone, you give your whole heart. You gave Ginny your heart and she hurt you deeply when she didn’t believe you,” she said gently. “Harry, I will listen any time you need to talk about her or your relationship.”

Harry closed his eyes, trying his best to push Ginny’s image from his mind’s eye. He knew he wasn’t ready to talk about her without falling into a pit of despair, but maybe doing some nice things for her family would assuage his guilt a little and make living with the consequences of his actions a little more bearable.

“Thanks, Hermione. I may take you up on that offer some day,” he said, and changed the subject to something that had no chance of depressing him for the rest of the evening.

*****

Ron sighed and leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen of his computer. He’d just sent off two more applications in the hope of getting an interview. Waiting to hear back from the human resource departments of the companies he applied to was the worst part of looking for a job. It sometimes took over a week to get a reply, so he was resigned to more waiting with these new applications. He sincerely hoped that they wouldn’t turn out to be rejection letters. 

In the meantime, he was driving up to Bristol tomorrow to interview with an internet security firm. While his concentration at university had been coding video games, his parents and advisor had insisted he branch out and learn technical coding … just in case. He now fully understood the meaning of “just in case” and he needed to thank his parents for their sage advice. He had a plan… if a tech firm hired him, he could stay in the job maybe five years and then see what the video game world was in need of by way of coders. However, at this point, he couldn’t be choosy about which type of firm chose him… he just plain needed a job!

He rubbed his face and left his desk in search of something to eat. He found a bag of crisps on top of his refrigerator and took it back to the living room, picking up his telly remote and sitting down on his sofa. He didn’t turn the telly on, though, because he’d just seen the photo of Ginny he’d put on his entertainment centre next to a photo of Fred and George. It had been nice to see her again. The time they’d spent together the night before his interview had been enjoyable; they’d reconnected a little more, reminisced about Fred, talked about their futures. The fact that his sister had invited him back meant a lot after what he’d done.

He also worried about her. Something didn’t feel right about the breakup of her engagement. It was plain as day to him that she still loved the bloke. He hadn’t mentioned it, but she’d called out for Harry in her sleep. Was having dreams about your ex normal? Or was it her brain’s way of helping her get over the breakup? There seemed to be an unresolved issue that was probably at the root of her dreams.

Ron didn’t know if this notion was true, but he wasn’t going to meddle as he might have done in the past.

With a tired sigh, he shut down his computer, turned off the light and headed for his bedroom, leaving the empty crisp bag on the end table. Maybe tomorrow would bring something better than rejection letters and bills he was having trouble paying.

*****

The Gringotts goblin, who introduced himself as Gemrok, popped into existence in Harry’s entrance hall precisely at half past two. Harry was waiting for him and after they exchanged greetings, led him up to the library where he had set up a table with magical chairs that adjusted so that the two parties were of equal height. (Sirius’ portrait had told Harry where to look for the chairs in the attic. Apparently, Orion Black had used the chairs when negotiating his own financial deals during Sirius’ youth. Gemrok seem familiar with their concept, and although he didn’t comment, it seemed to Harry that he appreciated their use.)

“What is it that you wish us to do?” asked Gemrok, getting down to business right away.

“I am interested in helping a Muggle who has fallen on hard times,” Harry explained. “He is the brother of my former fiancé.”

“If she is your former fiancé, why do you want to help her family?” Gemrok asked. “You’ve had a falling-out, severed your ties with those people. Why should their troubles be any of your business?”

“I am still deeply in love with the woman I Obliviated,” Harry admitted after several seconds. “I hurt her when I obeyed the Statute of Secrecy and changed her memory of our conversation about magic, but if I can somehow help her family, I’ll give her one less thing to worry about.”

Gemrok eyed him shrewdly. “You’re doing this to assuage your sense of guilt.”

Harry sighed. “I suppose I am, but I still want to help her family.”

The goblin scowled. “Very well. What do you wish Gringotts to do?”

“The Muggle, Ronald Weasley, is deeply in debt with student loans he is currently unable to pay due to losing his job. I wish to pay his debts anonymously and then funnel any payments he makes into a Building Society savings account. I know this is a very complicated thing to ask, but I am confident that Gringotts can make my request happen.”

Gemrok was silent for a few moments, then he said, “Paying down Mr Weasley’s debt is easy enough to do, but convincing the Muggle government that he still needs to pay what he owes will be much more complicated due to various rules.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, genuinely curious.

“Student loans are part of the Muggle government,” Gemrok said. “Once a student graduates and gets a job the amount owed is recorded on an employee’s payslip and an agreed upon amount is deducted each month. Should the employee lose his job, the payments stop being deducted. When the loans are repaid, a closing statement is issued by the Muggle government.”

“That complicates things… I don’t suppose Mr Weasley will be getting monthly payslips once he severs his association with the company he works for,” Harry stated, thinking fast.

“You are correct, he won’t, but he will still have to prove that he is either unemployed or earning below the quoted rate each year to be exempted from paying back his student loans,” Gemrok reiterated.

“So,” Harry said slowly as he worked out another plan of action in his head, “if he doesn’t receive notice that his loan is being repaid each month, it may take him a while to discover what’s being done.”

Gemrok smiled. “That is very true, Mr Potter, and depending on how fast you wish to repay Mr Weasley’s debt, he may not receive his closing statement for a year or more.”

Harry leaned back in his chair, turning over this new plan in his head. He actually liked it better because it eliminated a number of factors including intercepting the closing statement. He could then concentrate on the second plan he was hatching to help Ron.

“It’s been nearly a month since Mr Weasley’s company went bankrupt,” Harry said as he leaned forward. “Enough time has passed that he has definitely received his last payslip. How do we proceed with repaying his loans so that he doesn’t discover they’ve been repaid until he does his taxes next year?”

“Very good, Mr Potter,” Gemrok began, “I suggest the following…”

When Gemrok left Grimmauld Place an hour later, Harry descended the stairs to the kitchen in search of a celebratory butterbeer. Things had worked out quite nicely, if he said so himself.

*****

Ginny sat up in bed, sleepy and a bit muddled. She had just awoken from yet another dream about Harry for the second time this week. She didn’t know whether to be comforted or extremely annoyed because after all this time, shouldn’t she be getting on with her life and not dreaming about her ex?

The thing was, every dream like this she had seemed to be hinting at something that was just out of reach, but what it was, she had absolutely no clue. In tonight’s dream, she’d been back in the house with the talking portraits. She’d stopped to have her usual conversation with the five animated people who kept telling her how wonderful they thought it was that she was in love with Harry. Then, she carried on up the stairs and towards the library. On the way, she’d peeked into Harry’s bedroom for the first time. It was a typical man’s room, mostly bare walls and utilitarian furniture. However, one thing had caught her attention and that was a red and gold triangular pennant with the word “Gryffindor” on it. Underneath the word were six more words, but she could only make out the first three, “Hogwarts School of…” The other three were faded enough that she couldn’t make them out from where she stood. Shrugging, she had turned and entered the library where Harry had greeted her. They talked about her family for a while, mostly about Ron, before she left the house, promising the portraits that she would be back as she always did.

Slipping out of bed, Ginny wandered into her kitchen and put the kettle on. After one of these dreams, she was always awake for at least an hour. It was as if the dreams compelled her to sit and ponder them until they were satisfied that she realized what she needed to know from the “episode.” 

Tonight’s dream seemed to be hinting at the sort of school Harry had gone to before he joined the Army. Ginny sipped her tea as she turned on her laptop and chose the search engine. When the page appeared, she typed in “Hogwarts School” and waited for the results of her search. What came up was a ridiculous list of civil service announcements on how to cure hog’s warts. There was nothing about a school of something or other.

Next, she tried “Gryffindor.” The closest article turned out to be an advert for a hotel in America called the Griffin’s Door Inn and Spa.

“Figures,” she muttered, and turned off her computer. “Everything about that man is charmingly maddening.”

She finished her tea, put her cup in the dish washer and went back to bed. As she slipped under the covers, she wondered what else Harry had lied to her about now that she knew this Hogwarts School didn’t exist. Or did it? He’d seemed so sincere when he told her something was real… She punched her pillow, frustrated by how thoughts of Harry kept inserting themselves into her subconscious and forcing her to lose valuable sleep. She needed to be asleep… now: Tomorrow would be another busy day and she needed to be well rested to deal with some of her patients.

*****

Harry had his first appointment with Madam Pomfrey early in the morning two weeks after he was released from St Mungo’s. As he was feeling fit and healthy, he went alone, for he saw no reason to bother Hermione.

The first thing Madam Pomfrey said as he stepped out of her fireplace was, “Where’s Hermione? Doesn’t she usually come with you?”

Harry shrugged. “She had a big meeting today that she’s been going on and on about for the last ten days that conflicted with this appointment, so I came alone. I’ll clue her in on your results when we have dinner together tonight,” he told her. Looking around the ward, he spotted a curtained-off area at the far end of the room near the tall windows. “That for me?” he asked.

“Yes, you know the drill,” Madam Pomfrey told him as she handed him a set of pyjamas. 

He took them and headed quickly down the ward, eager to avoid stares from the students recuperating in the other beds.

Several minutes later, she rapped lightly on a curtain frame surrounding his bed before stepping around it. Harry was now clad in the blue-and-white-striped uniform of a Hogwarts convalescent. He grinned at her. 

Madam Pomfrey conjured a tall stool and leaned against it while consulting the parchment on her clipboard. “Hmmm, you were released from hospital a fortnight ago with promises to not do any magic. Where is your wand?”

Harry pointed to his trousers. “I made Hermione give it back to me. I carry it with me now, but I haven’t used it. I feel more secure with it on my person, even though I know I can’t use it. I’m sorry, Madam Pomfrey, but I just can’t put it back in my wardrobe,” he said.

“Harry, please call me Poppy,” Madam Pomfrey said. “You’ve been coming to me since you left school and it’s high time you treated me like a colleague rather than a one of the auxiliary staff.

“Now, with that out of the way, I quite agree that you should continue carrying your wand. You left St Mungo’s with your magic reserves nearly back to where they were at your last check-up. While you ‘leaked’ magic while in the coma, the Healers at the hospital think that was your body’s way of discharging the extra magic that you didn’t use up casting spells. That makes me wonder if it isn’t time for you to start using magic a few times each day to build up your reserves a bit faster to get rid of your excess energy and build up your tolerance,” she finished. 

Harry grinned. “What sort of spells are you thinking I should be doing?” he asked, rather excited with the prospect of getting to act like the wizard he was.

“Low level spells. Warm your tea if it gets cold. Turn on your lights. Lock and unlock your doors. Set your dishes to washing themselves, that sort of thing. Absolutely nothing high powered. If you cast a spell and feel it drain your magic, or feel light-headed or dizzy, don’t do it again or you’ll land yourself back in hospital faster than you’d think. I’d say that any first year spell would be enough to start with,” she said, smiling.

Harry’s grin widened. “I can do that,” he replied excitedly.

Poppy stood up and took a small quill from her apron pocket. With a sigh, she began her usual inquisition. “How are you feeling today?”

Harry answered truthfully, “I’m feeling fit and healthy.”

“Very good,” she murmured. “Any pain?”

“None.”

“Headaches?”

“None.”

“Pain in your chest or abdomen?”

“None.”

“Any dizziness?”

“None.”

“How’s your appetite?”

“About average for me.”

“Are you eating more or less than you did the last two days you were in hospital?”

“More.”

“Excellent.”

She waved her wand at him. “You’ve gained some of the weight you lost while in hospital,” she commented, sounding pleased. She then proceeded to ask Harry several rather embarrassing questions about his bodily functions, all of which Harry answered with his face becoming hotter and hotter; he could never get used to answering them without feeling acute embarrassment. He cooled down a little when she switched their discussion to the potions he was currently taking.

Finally, Poppy returned to her stool, placing her clipboard at the foot of his bed. “Harry, there’s something I just don’t understand,” she began as she folded her hands in her lap. “Hermione took you to St Mungo’s because you had depleted your magical core to the point of nearly making yourself into a Squib, just as you did the last night of the war. While you were in the coma, your body repaired itself rapidly, sometimes leaking magic, especially if you were calling out for Ginny. Hermione and your Healers all expected you to discharge a great deal of energy just before you awoke, but that didn’t happen? Do you know the cause?”

Harry nodded, but didn’t answer right away. Finally, he countered her question with some of his own. “Could you tell me how Hermione and the Healers knew I was discharging magical energy, please? What evidence did they record?”

Poppy smiled as she consulted her records. “You levitated objects, rattled windows, and a couple of times Summoned nearby objects such as Hermione’s Muggle Biros. There’s one note here that says that when you were calling for Ginny, you had a faint, pink halo about you. The Healer who made the note said that it was late at night and the lights were dimmed, which was the reason she could see it.”

Surprised, Harry asked, “I glowed? _Pink?_ ”

“That’s what it says here,” Poppy chuckled. “It looks like you were radiating love.”

“Well, there’s your answer, then,” Harry said matter-of-factly. “I didn’t explode because I’d already known Ginny’s love. I may have Obliviated her because she couldn’t accept the restrictions of the Statute of Secrecy, but I awoke calmly because I knew I had been loved by someone romantically, something that Voldemort tried to take from me, but couldn’t in the long run because my engagement to Ginny was proof that I _could_ love someone in return.”

“Oh, Harry,” Poppy stated, coming to sit on the bed next to him, “I wish you hadn’t needed to do what you did. You were so happy with Ginny in your life and I’m forever grateful to her for loving you enough to allow you to find happiness and better health again. It makes me wonder, though, why you had your wand close at hand. You weren’t in any danger and I know you hadn’t performed any magic in over two years. Why have the wand out at all?”

Harry sighed. He had known this conversation would come up with one or more of his Healers and he was at least grateful that it was Poppy rather than some of the more detached Healers at St Mungo’s. “We were arguing,” he began. “She didn’t know that magic is real when I proposed, so I decided to tell her it was and put out magical items in my library. She thought I was lying when I tried to give her examples. I’d shown her my wand and she’d tried to make it shoot sparks or something, but nothing happened, so she’d put it down. One thing led to another until she threw her engagement ring at me and called me a psycho.”

“What happened then?” Poppy asked.

“I grabbed the wand off the tea tray and Obliviated her,” Harry answered.

“So, you performed a complicated spell that required a significant amount of power without testing your magical strength beforehand?” she asked. Harry nodded. “I doubt you completely erased her memory of your argument,” Poppy added candidly. “What happened when you cast the spell?”

“I remember feeling the magic rush up my arm, just like it did when I killed Voldemort. I felt completely drained, like my legs wouldn’t hold me upright. We exchanged a few more words and I blacked out as she left my house,” Harry told her.

Poppy looked sad as she said, “Harry, you shouldn’t have felt the magic leave your body, much less felt weakened after you performed the spell. I highly doubt that your spell will be permanent and Ginny may be experiencing dreams or flashbacks that make her wonder about why she terminated your engagement.”

Surprised, Harry asked hopefully, “Do you think an impermanent spell would give her time to accept magic?”

“It might, depending on how she accepts the evidence. If she realizes that you were under restriction to keep her ignorant of magic, she may accept you back. If not, we may need to call in the Obliviators to do the job correctly,” she answered.

Harry bowed his head. “She was so angry,” he said. “I doubt she will want me back because I lied to her.”

Poppy patted his knee. “You never know what a woman is thinking, Harry,” she said as he looked back up at her. “There is the chance that she may give you the benefit of a doubt. Her love for you may be strong enough to overcome her misgivings. Are you getting on all right without her?”

Harry sighed. “Some days are better than others, but that’s to be expected. I seem to have the energy I gained while Ginny was in my life and when I start despairing, I think about the other people who have stood by me these last few months; you, Hermione and Neville, my Healers. I’m still pain free, even when I think about not being with Ginny any more. I still haven’t taken a walk past her flat yet, but as the weather improves, I may just do that to see how possibly seeing her makes me feel. Otherwise, I think I’m doing all right.”

Poppy patted his knee. “That’s good to know, Harry. I think the old quote, ‘’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’ applies here. If you ever need to talk, I’m here for you,” she said, standing up.

“Thanks.”

“Not at all.” She paused as she wrote something on her clipboard. “We’re done here. You may get dressed and I hope I won’t have to see you for another six months. I’ll send your Healers at St Mungo’s a copy of my report and they’ll get in contact with you about when your next appointment with them is.”

Harry swung his feet off the bed and grabbed the pile of clothing he’d put on the bedside table. “Sounds like a plan,” he said.

Several minutes later, he stepped into Poppy’s fireplace, heading back to Grimmauld Place with intention of going on a shopping spree.

*****

Harry entered Diagon Alley five minutes before Gringotts opened at nine o’clock, dressed in a set of Sirius’ old robes and wearing a pointed warlock’s hat to hide his scar. While he’d dressed for the outing—happily levitating his shoes and Summoning articles of clothing from his dresser— he had applied and maintained a glamor spell to hide his scar, but within five minutes, he was feeling light-headed and needed to sit down. It was obvious that disguising his appearance with magic was just too taxing.

Since it was still a bit early, he made good progress down the street and soon found himself standing in the shadows opposite the bank, waiting for it to open for business. When it did, Harry was among the first in line.

“I’d like to see someone about getting a Muggle credit card,” he told the goblin who had signalled him over.

“And why do you need a credit card?” the goblin asked.

“I wish to purchase a car and the Muggles don’t accept gold,” Harry answered.

“No, they don’t,” agreed the goblin. He turned to one of the other goblins nearby and they discussed Harry’s request in rapid Gobbledygook. After a few moments, the first goblin turned back to Harry. “You will follow Rocktoe,” he said, gesturing to the second goblin.

Harry nodded and followed Rocktoe to a desk at the far end of the room where he sat in the customer’s chair and waited for the goblin to speak.

“Do you wish to have the means to withdraw your gold and write cheques the way Muggles do?” he asked Harry.

Harry nodded. “I find myself in the Muggle world quite often these days and it’s not a good idea to carry a huge roll of banknotes on my person,” he answered. “So, yes, having both would be a good idea. I suppose you will be able to help me with this?”

“Of course, Mr Potter. Let me set them up and you can be on your way,” Rocktoe replied, reaching into the desk and pulling out two forms.

Ten minutes later, Harry strode out of the bank with a pleased smile on his face. He hastened to The Leaky Cauldron and hired a room. While he wouldn’t be sleeping there that night, he did need a place to change clothes as the magic to transfigure his current apparel into Muggle jeans and a jumper was too advanced for his magical core at the moment. Once he was in his room, he pulled several tiny items from his pocket and put them on the bed in a pile. He wanted to perform the enlargement spell only once. When he had dressed, he left his robes on the bed, intending to come back to the room for them later. He then left the pub via the street door and once again ventured into Muggle London. 

*****

It was with a jaunty bounce in his step that Harry left his house for the third time that day, this time dressed in a conservative Muggle suit in dark blue, and headed for the Underground station where he used to meet Ginny. He was excited, not by the prospect of looking every inch the young businessman, but by the fact that he now owned an automatic driving license. He was now of the opinion that the Confundus Charm was a quite handy, if not very legal, means of expediting the processes that usually took longer than he’d been back in the land of the living, due to all the written and practical tests needed to obtain a full license. However, he couldn’t wait any longer because he was sick and tired of staying at home, dependent on others for transportation. His time with Ginny had shown him that he was meant to be out and driving…

Having reached the Underground, he descended the steps and consulted the map before buying his ticket and finding the right platform. His train came and he chose to stand so that an elderly woman could have the only available seat. When his stop was announced, he left the train and consulted a piece of paper he had in his pocket before striding off down the busy street.

Twenty minutes later, he entered a Vauxhall dealership and began looking at the various cars. He was pleased that there were several models that wouldn’t stand out if parked on the street in front of his house. Indeed, it wouldn’t do to own a car that would call attention to itself like a Jaguar (his dream car) or a BMW would in his neighbourhood.

“May I help you?” a voice came from his left.

Harry looked up to see one of the salesmen had come over in hopes of a sale. “Yes, I’m interested in purchasing a car today,” he said, indicating the Astra he was currently looking at. “Does this model come in red?”

The salesman answered, “Yes, it does. We have several I can show you. Come with me.”

The two wandered about the lot talking options, prices and engine size until Harry found the car he wanted, a deep red metallic Astra VXR with ABS brakes, folding rear seats, and air conditioning, a feature the salesman assured Harry he would appreciate during the coming summer. The only thing Harry was worried about was the keyless entry feature that required a fob with a battery. If his television remote couldn’t be charmed to work without batteries, he was certain the fob couldn’t be charmed either. He’d just have to use the lock the Muggle way.

“Let’s go back to my office and complete the purchase, then,” the salesman said, looking rather pleased.

Harry followed him, feeling rather excited. It took nearly an hour for the two to complete the paperwork and at last, Harry fished a book of paper out of his jacket that the goblins at Gringotts had assured him looked like and functioned as Muggle cheques.

“I’m paying cash today,” Harry told the salesman. “How much should I write the cheque for?”

The salesman told him and Harry filled out the top cheque. 

“I think you will be pleased with your purchase, young man,” the salesman said as he took it. “If you’ll please wait in the lobby, I’ll have your car detailed and brought to the front when it’s ready. Here is the spare key.”

Harry smiled as he left the office, thinking that it would be fun to see how fast the car would go on the motorway, but decided against it. Getting stopped by a policeman the day he obtained his license and insurance wouldn’t do at all. Maybe he’d drive down to Devon in a few days once he was used to driving the car.

When his new car was brought to the front, the salesman came to thank Harry for purchasing his car from him. They shook hands and Harry turned to leave. That was when he realized the consequences of his mistake; he’d purchased a car with a manual transmission rather than an automatic one. The rented Ford he had taken his driving test in had been an automatic and he’d applied for and received a license to drive that type of transmission! When asked, he’d Confunded the salesman into thinking that the license was for a manual car. Would his deception be discovered? He dared not consider it.

For a moment, he panicked, thinking he was stuck. Then, he remembered being trapped in the back seat of his Uncle Vernon’s car while Dudley had driven them to visit Aunt Marge the summer Dudley turned sixteen. Uncle Vernon had been in the front passenger’s seat while Aunt Petunia had sat next to Harry ticking off the types of roads and road conditions Dudley was experiencing on his practice form and making disapproving noises every time the car lurched. For once, Harry had been glad he wouldn’t be allowed to do something.

Harry now sat in the driving seat thinking hard, while trying to look as if he was surveying the layout of the controls and gages. A sideways glance told him the salesman was still standing where he’d left him. _Bugger!_ It was almost as if he knew Harry didn’t know how to drive a car with manual controls!

Suddenly, Harry recalled his uncle calmly telling Dudley, “Push in the clutch before you shift, son.” Several more instructions came to him in rapid succession—the new directions having come from the few times he’d driven Ginny’s car last October—and Harry applied them all, managing to smoothly drive to the exit before having to make the decision to turn right or left. A left turn won because it was shorter than a right and didn’t require a shift change in the middle. For a split second, Harry wondered if he could get home making only left turns. His turn was smooth and as he drove out of sight of the salesman, he heaved a sigh of relief, mostly because he didn’t want to look an idiot in front of the man.

The rest of the ride home was an adventure. Harry prided himself in knowing how to easily get from one place to another in London, but soon discovered that confidence applied only to when he was on foot! Seeing the city from the right side of a car while traveling the speed limit was another thing entirely! Utterly lost, he pulled to the side of the road, put on his emergency flashers and pulled out his wand. A quick _Point Me_ spell told him the direction he needed to be going and soon he was a little bit closer to home. He arrived at Grimmauld Place several hours later than he had planned, although he was quite pleased with the fact that he and his new car were still in one piece. He’d done a significant amount of lurching as he progressed through the city.

“Harry, whose red Vauxhall is that parked out front?” Hermione asked as she entered Harry’s kitchen. “I haven’t seen it around here before.”

“It’s mine,” Harry told her proudly as he flicked his wand at the Aga and a cauldron full of spaghetti levitated towards the sink and began to pour its contents into a colander he had waiting there. “I bought it today. It should be all right out there, since it’s beyond the house’s enchantments.”

Hermione stopped halfway between the door and the worktop. “What aren’t you telling me,” she demanded, “and why are you casting spells? You know you’re not supposed to.”

Harry retrieved a pan of sauce he’d had simmering next to the cauldron and dumped it and the spaghetti into a large bowl. “I had a visit with Poppy Pomfrey early this morning—”

“You had an appointment with Madam Pomfrey and you didn’t tell me?” Hermione interrupted shrilly, sounding exasperated. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We’ll go into that in a bit,” Harry told her crossly while handing her a basket of garlic bread. “Anyway, she’s cleared me to cast low-power spells. I’ve been using magic all day and I’ve discovered I have no problem with levitation and locking spells, but _Point Me_ was a bit tiring. I’ve also decided I’m going to get one of those new-fangled sat nav systems to keep in the car so I won’t get lost.”

They settled at the table and began eating in silence, Harry aware of the glare Hermione was levelling at him with every bite.

Finally, she put down her fork. “It would have been nice to know you had an appointment with Madam Pomfrey today,” she said.

“Hermione, you’ve been worrying about that meeting you had this morning for the last ten days. What was I supposed to do? Ask you to cancel it? I thought you’d appreciate not having to do so,” Harry said reasonably. “I’m not the invalid I was a year ago.”

“I know you’re not, but I’ve been your advocate for so long, I thought we’d continue going to your appointments together until your Healers cleared you of all restriction,” she said, sounding unhappy.

“Poppy thought the same thing, but I assured her I’d tell you exactly what we discussed,” Harry told her honestly. “That’s what I’m trying to do now.”

“Oh.”

He then told her about the rest of his conversation with Poppy, and by the time he finished, Hermione concurred that maybe she would have been in the way. She thanked him for the update and they finished their meal chatting about her meeting and the various goings-on at the Ministry.

Harry had just served pudding when Hermione asked, “Are you going to tell me about the other things you did today? I know for a fact that you were most likely busier than I was. And when am I going to get a ride in your new car?”

“So demanding!” he teased. “Since my appointment with Poppy was rather early, I went to the bank and the Leaky Cauldron after I met with her, then obtained my driving license, purchased some insurance, and finally bought the car.”

“How could you have gone through the process of obtaining your driving license when you haven’t had any of the tests?” Hermione squawked. “Did you have to Confund someone?”

Harry took a large gulp of his pumpkin juice before answering her. “Ginny encouraged me to apply for my license back in September. I went through the proper channels a little faster than the average teenager and maybe a Confundus Charm or two helped expedite things a little, but in the long run, I went through the process legally, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“When did you get the chance to practice? When did you have lessons?” she persisted.

“When you _obviously_ were at work or off with your boyfriend,” Harry answered, beginning to become annoyed. “There’s not a lot to do around here during the day and I needed something to do while I waited for you to get off work. 

“Ginny was quite helpful, too. She provided the car in which I practiced. She drove us out to the country and let me practice on farm roads between Exeter and her parents’ farm where she learned to drive. I may not have gotten all of the required practice or professional lessons recommended, but Ginny was a good enough teacher that I passed the written and road exams well enough to get my license and now I’ve bought the car,” he continued defensively. “And before you start to berate me for doing things without you, remember that I don’t go to the Ministry with you and hold your hand while you’re in meetings, so just back off!”

Hermione looked hurt at his attack. “I’m sorry, Harry. Maybe I should go,” she said quietly, standing up.

Harry suddenly realized how his speech must have come across; he didn’t want her to leave, but he didn’t want to continue rowing with her either. He caught her wrist as she stepped away from the table. “I’m sorry, too, Hermione,” he apologized. “I’d like it if you stayed. Would you please stay? I don’t want to argue with you.”

She hesitated and then sat back down. “I’ll stay,” she told him. A small smile lit up her face. “After all, I’ve missed arguing with my little brother for the last two plus years.”

“Little brother?” Harry sputtered indignantly. “I’ll remind you that we were in the same year at Hogwarts, thank you very much, so you’re not that much older than I am!”

Hermione laughed. “You’re right, Harry, but it was fun winding you up,” she chortled. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt confident enough to do that.”

Harry smiled at her. “I’m glad,” he said. “Would you like to see my car?”

“Could I have a ride in it?” She looked at her watch. “This time of night the traffic shouldn’t be too bad if we stick to the neighbourhood streets.”

Harry grinned at her. “I’ll get my keys,” he said, and flicking his wand at the dishes, set them to washing themselves with a very satisfied smile.


	16. Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny's brothers get a surprise as does Ginny, Harry has an encounter with an owl, and Hermione helps Harry find his broom.

A/N: Last week, I neglected to acknowledge someone who was a tremendous help to me in figuring out how the British Student Loan system works. Brennus patiently explained, in at least two emails, all I needed to know for the story while politely pointing out that Harry’s hairbrained scheme for getting Ginny to notice him wasn’t going to work! Thank you, Brennus, for your patience and sound financial advice. Also, thank you to all of my other betas—Melindaleo, Mutt n Feathers and Cackling Stump—for all you do to make the story better.

I also am appreciative of all the reviewers who let me know their opinions of what our favorite characters are doing in the story. You make me think about them and their actions and hold me accountable for what I have them do. Thank you for that.

**Chapter 16**

Saturday morning found Harry once again digging in the depths of his school trunk. His mission: find his Firebolt. Years ago, he had reduced it to the size of a toothpick and stowed it in the bottom of the trunk before shrinking the trunk to the size of a matchbox and handing it to Hermione for safekeeping. Since moving back into Sirius’ house, he had gradually emptied the trunk of old school books and clothes he no longer needed until all that was left was his telescope, his Potions cauldron, his broom servicing kit and the broom amongst the broken quills, dried-up ink bottles and bits of crumbling parchment. He was now regretting making the broom so small.

Sifting through all the detritus was making him crazy. He wanted to be out in the country flying high above the trees and now that he had his car, he could easily get there. Only trouble was, he couldn’t find his broom!

With a sigh, he picked up his wand, pointed it inside the trunk, and tried a Summoning Spell. “ _Accio broom_.”

Nothing stirred in the trunk. Puzzled, Harry tried again. When the broom didn’t come to him, he sat back, wondering if the spell was too much for his magic. That couldn’t be right, he decided. He’d been Summoning things from across the room for over a week. So why hadn’t his broom come to him?

A chime sounded outside his room, telling him that someone had their head in his fireplace, so he hurried downstairs to see who wanted to speak with him.

“Harry! Thank goodness!” exclaimed Hermione, who looked rather consternated. “Did you mean to Summon your broom?”

“Yes, but why would you have it, Hermione?” Harry asked. “I thought I’d put it in my trunk before the Horcrux hunt.”

“Obviously, you took it out at some point and didn’t bother to put it back properly,” she groused. “Do you want it?”

“Yes. Should I come through?” he asked.

“NO!” she cried, sounding suddenly flustered. “Erm, just a second.” She turned her head to speak with someone in the room behind her. A moment later, her hand, holding the tiny broom, emerged from under her chin. Harry briefly glimpsed her bare shoulder and a bit of her cleavage as she held it out to him.

Harry used the fire tongs to capture the tiny broom and bring it into the kitchen. “How did you know I Summoned the broom?” he asked as he put it in his pocket.

“My beaded bag began bouncing around and fell off my bedside table,” Hemione answered. “The broom began flying around my bedroom and w– I had a hard time catching it. Do you need anything else?”

Smirking, Harry shook his head. “The broom is all I wanted,” he said. “I’ll let you get back to what you were doing.” As Hemione withdrew her head, he added, “Say hello to Neville for me.”

A faint, annoyed-sounding growl reached his ears as the flames returned to embers. Harry chuckled and enlarged his broom before going back upstairs to finish cleaning out his trunk.

Lunchtime found Harry at his favourite fish and chips shop happily munching on his lunch and fiddling with his new sat nav system. He wanted to test the device while finding a good, out-of-the-way place to go for a fly. He remembered how isolated the Devon countryside was and thought the long drive would be good practice for getting used to driving on motorways. He’d packed a bag and intended to find a place to stay the night in one of the villages near Exeter. 

Finished with his lunch, he waved to the proprietor and headed out of London, obeying the directions the sat nav gave him. He found he was much more relaxed than he had been the last time he drove his car now that he didn’t have to rely on dead reckoning. While he was still having trouble with stalling, he was getting better at negotiating right turns and smoothly shifting gears. Hermione had been a great help the evening they’d gone for a drive and he was pleased that he remembered what she’d taught him.

Once he was out of London, Harry pointed the car towards Bristol, having never seen the city by daylight. He and Hermione had sheltered in several safe houses there during the Horcrux hunt, always arriving and leaving in the dark. The urge to see the sea by day and smell the salty air was strong today, so Harry didn’t mind taking the longer, scenic drive instead of the more direct route he knew Ginny had always taken.

It was a beautiful April day and Harry opened all the windows, even though the noise from the wind was deafening at times. He turned up the radio and hummed along with the rock and roll tunes blasting from the speakers as he rolled along. A thought came to him that he was listening to music for going fast and he smiled. It was good to be out in the world with not a care in sight.

Six o’clock found him in the outskirts of Exeter booking a room at a small bed and breakfast. He’d spent a pleasant hour walking around the Bristol Aquarium looking at the fish and learning about the wildlife in the area followed by a detour to the Black Nore Lighthouse to actually see the sea before arriving at his destination. He now asked about good places to eat and the lady who owned the Seagull Inn gave him the names of several. He thanked her, went to find his room. Several minutes later, he was headed back out to his car, intent on finding a place to fly before dark.

He turned off the carriageway forty minutes later and slowed to the posted speed limit, looking at the countryside for a good place to fly. He finally found one that fit his needs: a place to hide the car and enough open land with no major buildings in sight. He checked his watch and smiled when he discovered sundown was in two hours. That gave him plenty of time. Locking his car doors manually, he opened the hatch and lifted his broom from the cargo space. Smiling, he placed a homing spell on a tree next to his car and then straddled his broom.  
“Whoo hoo!” he yelled as he launched himself into the air.

*****

Her parents’ farm had always been a source of peace and happiness for Ginny and on this warm Saturday evening, it was a place to relax and escape the frantic pace of London. She had been walking the perimeter of her father’s fields for about forty minutes, watching the cows and alpacas and assessing the crops like the farmer’s daughter she was. She agreed with her father that he could start harvesting his barley in a couple of weeks; his wheat would be ready several weeks later.

With a sigh, she turned back towards the house, smiling when the cows kept pace with her. The air had turned a bit chilly and she, like them, wanted the shelter of the farm buildings. 

As she crossed the brook that bisected one of the pastures, she glanced up at the sky, looking for the resident hawk that usually flew about this time of night. She smiled when she saw a speck in the sky and stopped to watch the bird. A second later, she corrected herself; the speck in the sky was much bigger than the hawk. It flew faster than the hawk and seemed to be doing barrel rolls… and was that a loop-the-loop? She watched in fascination as what she thought was an ultralight plane dove straight down and disappeared for a few seconds behind the house, and she wondered if it had crashed. She changed her mind a moment later when she heard a faint whoop and suddenly, the machine ascended high into the sky, stalled, and dove again with no audible engine noise. She thought again… the outline of the flyer wasn’t that of a plane, it was a figure on a broom! 

_It couldn’t be!_ She thought. She shook her head, blinked a few times, and then searched for the flyer again, but couldn’t find it again. This was too much for Ginny. _I must have been seeing things. All these weird dreams about Harry must be causing my imagination to work overtime._

She made a beeline for the house, thinking, _I need a stiff cup of tea, preferably with a shot of whisky in it!_

*****

Flying had never felt so good, Harry concluded, as he pulled out of his second dive. Oh, how he’d missed the rush of the wind in his ears, the sensation of moving at breakneck speed, the chill of the evening air! Bless Poppy Pomfrey for telling him he could do things the first years at Hogwarts were learning! At the moment, he was truly a happy man!

A deep hoot caught his attention and he slowed his broom to watch for the owl. The bird turned out to be a magnificent eagle owl with a huge package tied to its leg. As the sun sank towards the horizon, the owl landed on the tip of the Firebolt’s handle and folded its wings, panting hard. It looked expectantly at Harry, but snapped its beak at him when he tried to untie the package.

“Sorry, mate, no water,” Harry apologized. “I don’t carry any when I’m flying.” The bird looked affronted, so he added, “I won’t try to take your package again. I thought you were delivering to me. You can rest for as long as you like.”

The bird seemed to understand and sat on the broom for a good five minutes before flying off with another deep hoot. Harry watched it until it disappeared into the growing gloom and decided he needed to get back to his car. Taking out his wand, he used the Point Me Spell to locate its hiding place and was soon back on the ground. His stomach growled as he stowed his broom under the hatch cover and started the engine. The sat nav glowed softly when he turned it on and punched in the name of the village where his lodging was located. Still riding high from his flight, Harry retraced the roads he’d driven earlier and was soon pulling into the car park of a local pub. He ordered a pint and the shepherd’s pie, then sat back, content to replay the day in his head. What a great day it had been!

*****

Ginny was up before her mother the next morning. She hadn’t slept at all well, since the word “magic” had popped into her head sometime around two o’clock and set up residence there. She’d spent the next three hours tossing and turning and wondering about all the weird stuff she had been dreaming. While the dreams when she talked to the people in the portraits about magic couldn’t possibly be real, she couldn’t shake the déjà vu feeling, as if she had actually experienced them.

She also couldn’t get the figure on the broom out of her mind. Of course, she was familiar with the stereotypical image of a witch wearing a conical hat riding on a broom, but, for some reason, she had a feeling that the flyer might be Harry. When she thought about it, the voice had sounded an awful lot like Harry’s. She had this feeling that they had had a conversation about flying on a broom, which was ridiculous, but she couldn’t rid her mind of that niggling feeling. What if it really had been him up there in the sky? What if the magic that the people in the portraits talked about was real? Did that mean that he hadn’t been lying to her about what he was and that there might have been a good reason for his keeping it from her? _No, that’s preposterous!_ she admonished herself. _Stop considering such nonsense! You’re just having some dreams because you are having difficulty getting over Harry!_

She tried to focus her thoughts on more rational topics as she heated a mug of water in the microwave and then added a teabag. She had decided to take her drink outside and watch the sun rise like she used to when she was younger and still living here. The coming day had always made her problems feel insignificant after a night of worrying. Maybe it would help clear her thoughts like it had in the past.

Her tea now hot enough to keep her hands nice and warm, Ginny donned an old pea coat that hung on a coat rack next to the kitchen door. Her barn boots followed and she slipped out the door and into the twilight that preceded the dawn and began the two-minute walk past the barn to her favourite morning observation point. It was the perfect place to watch the sun creep over the top of Falling Tree Hill at the edge of her parents’ estate. Years ago, one of her brothers had left a log lying next to the footpath for her; she settled on it now and faced the eastern horizon, sipping and anticipating the coming of the new day. 

All was well…

*****

Harry was up before the sun because he wanted to fly one more time before breakfast, which would be served at eight o’clock. He’d been told that the key to his room also fit the front door, so that if he needed to go out before the inn opened at nine, he could get back in. The woman who ran the place was under the impression that Harry liked to go for early morning runs.

On his way out of the village he stopped at a petrol station to fill his tank and grab a coffee. It was still dark and a bit chilly, so he happily sipped his drink as he drove. He thought he’d be all right to fly so early in the morning, dressed as he was in Sirius’ old bike leathers. It felt odd wearing his godfather’s clothes, but they’d served the other man well on his night-time flights around England on his Triumph. Harry had decided to give the leathers a new life…

Rather than trying to find a different place to fly, Harry headed back towards the spot he’d parked in the evening before, mostly because his homing spell was still on the tree. His car secured at the side of the road, Harry took off into the morning gloom and headed east towards the sunrise. As he flew, he contemplated trying to maintain a Disillusionment Charm, but ultimately decided against it because the charm was taught to the sixth- or seventh-year students at Hogwarts. He wouldn’t risk blacking out and falling off the broom.

The sky lightened and the land below him started taking on shape and colour and he now noticed a farm beneath him. It was a pretty setting, surrounded by pastures and a few fields of what he thought was winter grain. Near the house was a small pond and he could hear the sleepy quacking of the ducks as they came awake.

As Harry circled the house, he watched as a solitary figure emerged and began walking along a narrow footpath past the barn and one of the pastures. Fascinated, Harry spiralled lazily downward until he could see that the figure might have waist-length ginger hair. His heart clenched. The farm buildings and the placement of the pond suddenly looked very familiar! The woman looked very familiar! Had he unintentionally found the Weasley farm? There was no doubt that the figure walking down the path was Ginny. The urge to make himself known to her was incredibly strong, but after what he’d done to her, he couldn’t risk undoing the spell by landing in front of her like he wanted. It took all the will power he had to lazily spiral upward and westward, all the while hoping that she hadn’t seen him.

*****

A flash of something shiny in the western sky caught Ginny’s attention as the first rays of the sun rose above the trees on Fallen Tree Hill. It was as if someone was flashing a mirror at her, like someone lost in the woods sending Morse Code distress messages. She smiled as she thought about the times she and Ron and the twins had carried mirrors around the farm trying to “communicate” that they were in distress in a modified game of Hide and Go Seek. The first one to reach the “distressed” sibling won the game. The games had been fun; her brothers even let her win once and that night, she had collected three extra helpings of biscuits under the table. She hid them in her blouse and took them up to her bedroom to eat at her leisure. Two days later, Ron had won the game and she’d been forced to hand over her biscuits and watch Ron eat them in front of her!

Another flash brought her back to the present and she looked up to see the same flying silhouette that had disturbed her sleep last night spiralling up and away from her. As the figure flew closer, she perused it intensely in the predawn light and saw that it was indeed a man on a broom! When the man’s back was to her, she didn’t see a flash, but as he faced the rising sun again, the rays momentarily glinted off either goggles or a pair of glasses, making her think of Harry. The day grew brighter and she was able to see his speck more clearly, allowing her to recognize that the dark-haired man was wearing a dark blue jumper that resembled the one she had knitted as Harry’s Christmas present. However, before she could definitively identify him, he flew off towards the west. Then, he was gone, but she didn’t feel sad or angry as she had imagined countless times as she finished her tea and started back towards the house. Quite the opposite, seeing him had given her hope that she wasn’t going mad because the dawning day had indicated that really, all was well.

*****

Harry flew until his watch told him he needed to be back at the inn in forty-five minutes, so he circled the farm one more time and then headed back to his car. It had felt so good to fly this morning, watching the new day come, just as he had at Hogwarts before the war. Then, as now, just being up in the air had taken away his problems and feelings of guilt, especially where Ginny was involved. Finding her parents’ farm had been a fortuitous discovery, a sign he interpreted to mean that there was hope that he and Ginny might someday be friends again. New days were always filled with hope and he carried that hope with him all the way back to the inn. Later, on the drive home, he decided that it was now time to start walking past Ginny’s flat again. He needed to see her in person one last time…

*****

Ron sighed as he asked the bank teller helping him to transfer two thousand pounds from his savings account to his chequing account. His last pay slip from Video Visions had come a month ago and now he needed to delve into his savings to keep up with his bills. He hated being unemployed, mostly because all the time he’d spent writing code for the company he now had as idle time. With nothing to do most days, he’d taken to worrying about what he would do when he’d used up his savings. He also worried about his student loans. Sure, he knew that he only paid when his income was above a certain level, but still… his parents had taught him to pay his debts on time and now that he couldn’t, the debt grated at his conscience.

He drove home slower than was his habit and didn’t stop at his favourite pub for a pint, even though he really wanted one. Every penny saved kept the lights on and his credit card bills low…

His mail box was full when he opened it. Ron pulled out the stack of envelopes, magazines (he’d have to stop those when his subscriptions were up now that he couldn’t afford them), and adverts and took them up to his flat, where he discarded the adverts without looking at them. Grabbing the last Coke from his refrigerator, he wandered back into his living room to sort through the rest of his mail. Amongst the assorted bills were a couple of envelopes with return addresses for companies he’d applied to. His hands trembled as he opened the first letter. A moment later, a smile nearly split his face as he realized that the letter was asking for a second interview! The second letter was the same. He was so excited, he pulled out his mobile and punched in Ginny’s number, wanting to share his good news with her. He hoped she wasn’t too busy to take his call. She answered on the third ring.

“Hello, Ron,” she greeted him. “Is anything wrong?”

Ron took a deep breath and blurted, “I just opened two letters from different companies asking for a second interview! I’m so excited I had to call somebody and that somebody was you!”

“Congratulations, Ron! Do you need a place to stay before your interviews?” Ginny asked.

He consulted the envelopes. “Not this time, sis,” he said. “These two firms are in Exeter. I’ll let you know if I have any more interviews in London.”

“Sounds good,” she said, sounding genuinely happy for him. “Gotta go. Talk to you soon.”

They hung up and Ron went to find his calendar to put his interviews on it. A potentially horrible day had turned for the better.

*****

That night, Ginny dreamed of Harry’s house again. This was the first time she had associated the weirdly moving objects in the house with him and as a result, she remembered the names of one of the couples in the paintings: James and Lily. When she questioned them, they admitted to being Harry’s parents who had died trying to save him from something horrible, though they wouldn’t say what. Her dream self thanked them for the information and finished ascending the stairs where she again peeked into the bedroom, hoping for more clues to her mystery. The light was a little less gloomy in this dream and she was able to see the entire pennant for the first time, along with the weird-looking broom Harry had used on Christmas to help her dig out her car that was propped against the wall.

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” her dream self whispered, her eyes growing wide. “Gryffindor House…”

She made a beeline for the library and drew up short at the mantle, frantically looking for something. She knew it belonged in the pen stand that stood empty in the middle of the shelf. The item was hugely significant and its absence frustrated her to no end. Turning, she left the library and confronted the portraits.

“James, Lily, I need to know something important,” she told them in a shaky voice.

“What do you need, dear,” Lily asked.

“Does Harry carry a wooden stick about twelve inches long?” she blurted.

Lily smiled. “Not lately, but yes, he does. Why do you ask?”

“I… I think it’s an important clue I need to solve a mystery,” Ginny said.

“I think you’re right,” James told her. 

Ginny took a deep breath and then asked, “Is the stick a magic wand?”

James smiled at her. “Yes, it is,” he said. Then, he added, “Is there anything else you want to know?”

“Is… is…” she hesitated, “Is Gryffindor House part of a _magical_ school?”

James and his friend with the black hair beamed at her. “You’re beginning to figure this out, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Figure what out?” she countered.

“Think about what you just asked,” prompted James.

“Then think about some of the other things you’ve experienced while in this house,” added the other black-haired man.

Ginny sat down on the stairs and stared at the portraits, a slight frown puckering her forehead.

Lily smiled at her. “Go back to sleep, Ginny. You’ll wake up and easily answer your own questions if you think about what James and Sirius have asked you to do,” she said.

Ginny’s dream self nodded and closed her eyes: the real Ginny slipped back into dreamless sleep.

She awoke several hours later feeling rather disoriented but refreshed. She had a lot to think about and decided to start with her dreams. After each dream, she found that some of her memories of the night that she broke up with Harry became fuzzier, while others, which were hard to explain, became clearer. This most recent dream left her ready to puzzle out what she’d done in the dream. For all its dreamy qualities, she had the feeling that her dreams had always been more of a logic puzzle than just random, weird things her brain conjured to cope with her breakup. To help her figure out the puzzle, she made a mental list of some of the things she had seen:

1\. Harry used candles and oil lamps to light his rooms and fireplaces to heat them 2\. old-fashioned gas lamps lit his hallways 3\. he always had a banked fire in his kitchen fireplace 4\. the battery in her phone drained every time she had taken it into his house 5\. there was no place to plug in his telly or his DVD player, but they worked without electricity 6\. she’d had to replace the battery in her car’s key fob three times between September and January (all three times after a visit to Harry’s house) 7\. Harry didn’t own a telephone, neither a land line nor a mobile


If she went with the premise that magic was real, then she was experiencing a very powerful thing that precluded the use of electricity in Harry’s house, she decided.

Other things she’d seen had to do with the portraits on the stairs. She suddenly remembered examining one quite thoroughly for electronics because the people in them talked to her, but the frames were too thin to house the sophisticated electronics or even computer chips that would allow them to move and talk. Even the paper photographs Harry had shown her moved!

Then, there was the contents of Harry’s medicine cupboard. Why had he shown it to her? Had he thought equating what he took to get well was akin to the medicines she administered to her patients? She had the vague idea that they had argued about it… she remembered tiny bottles of various sweet-coloured liquids—Harry had called them potions—but what they were for, she couldn’t remember. What she did recall yelling at him was that such silly-looking things couldn’t do the same thing modern medicines did.

The last thing she remembered was the weird feeling of needing to be somewhere else every time she tried to climb the steps to his house. Harry had said the feeling was part of his security system… and had always kept her hand in his as they mounted the front stairs. Was all of this true? There were certainly a lot of happenings that she couldn’t explain easily, and she had to conclude that magic might indeed be the answer.

Ginny shook her head and climbed out of bed, heading for the kitchen and her teapot. She took her time choosing the tea she wanted to drink and then sat at the table to wait for the kettle to boil. 

If she went with her other theory—that everything she was experiencing was just a weird dream—then all of the things she’d listed to support her first theory could be considered fantasy. She now also vaguely remembered accusing Harry of needing a psychologist because he thoroughly believed he was a wizard who could do magic and lived in a magical house. Maybe he was justifying magic being real because he couldn’t accept how he had accumulated so many horrible scars and magic was just a convenient excuse. Maybe thinking magic was real helped him cope with the reality that he’d been in some very dangerous fighting on several occasions somewhere in the Middle East…

The kettle whistled and she jumped up to silence it before she woke her upstairs neighbours. She first warmed her teapot, then added the camomile flowers and more hot water. The kitchen filled with the soothing aroma of her tea and as she waited for it to finish brewing, she somehow knew in her heart that Harry had been speaking the truth and had shown her enough evidence for her to know that magic was real. With this realization, came guilt. She had been angry that night not because she was frightened of what he was showing her, but because she thought he had lied to her about so many things. Now, as she considered him, she knew that he wouldn’t lie to her without good reason. _So what could that reason be?_ She asked herself. Then, like a light bulb suddenly turning on in her mind, she now realized that he probably _couldn’t_ tell her the truth, that something was stopping him from telling her, and that he might possibly get into trouble for revealing the truth to her about _his world._ What had he meant by that? 

The more she thought about it, the more questions popped into her head. What had she done to the wonderful, innocent man who had swept her off her feet simply by loving her for herself? She felt the guilt begin to crowd her brain again at the thought that she hadn’t trusted him as he trusted her. Had she scoffed at his sincerity so much that he hated her now? Would he ever consider being her friend again? If they did become friends again, would he want to possibly rebuild their relationship? Would _he_ believe _her_ that she felt awful for doubting him and calling off their engagement? There was only one way to find out.

Standing, she went to her writing desk and took out pen and some stationery her mother had given her for her birthday. Her note was short, just three sentences, asking Harry to meet her for lunch at the espresso bar in Regent’s Park on Saturday. It was open year-round and if the weather was awful, they could find an inside table at which to talk. She finished her note and then addressed the envelope to Harry Potter at number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

She glanced at the clock and let out an involuntary yawn. She needed to get up in two hours if she was going to post the letter before taking the Underground to work. Her last thought as her head hit her pillow was hope that Harry would want to meet her.

*****

Harry met with Gemrok again, this time about some charitable contributions he wanted to make.

“I don’t understand you, Mr Potter,” the goblin said as they settled at his desk at Gringotts. “Why do you want to give away so much of your gold? Isn’t the point of investing to grow your wealth?”

“It is,” Harry answered, “but I wish to help others who can’t help themselves or who wish to preserve buildings of historical significance for the British public. The four charities are run by Muggles here in Britain and in France.” He opened his briefcase and extracted a sheaf of parchment. “Here is my list of organizations I wish to donate to under the names listed. It is important to me that these people get the credit for the donations rather than me. The donations are to be made every month.”

“Feeling guilty again, Mr Potter?” Gemrok asked as he began filling out forms for each of Harry’s donations.

Harry smirked. “On the contrary, I’m feeling rather philanthropic. My money is going to help these organizations with the work that is vital to those who receive it. If I kept the money it would just sit in my vault doing nothing to help the world.”

Gemrok grumbled under his breath in Gobbledygook, but didn’t say anything outright to Harry. 

Fifteen minutes later, Harry walked out of the bank feeling quite happy with how things were turning out. He hoped that if Ginny ever found out that he was the mysterious donor, that she would view his helping her brothers as his way of letting her know he still loved her and cared for the well-being of her family. He had no idea how long it would take her to break through his Memory Charm, but when she did, he hoped she was still as much in love with him as he was in love with her. 

His thoughts turned back to his meeting with Gemrok. If all went to plan, maybe this time next year he would add his own name to this list of donors in addition to those of the Weasley brothers. He already had been contributing anonymously to research being done through St Mungo’s, so adding some Muggle charities felt natural to him.

*****

Charlie Weasley walked into the meeting room for his monthly meeting with the other ornithologists/conservation officers working for the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds. He greeted several of his friends before the meeting began. It progressed as it always did until the subject of donations came up.

“A highly unusual donation was made this past month,” Charlie’s supervisor stated. “Ten thousand pounds was donated anonymously to RSPB and was specifically earmarked for the reserve where Charles Weasley works.” 

Startled, Charlie looked up to see everyone at the table staring at him.

His supervisor continued, “Whatever you did to impress this patron, keep it up, Charlie. I’d like you to make a list of the projects and studies being conducted at Bempton Cliffs Reserve and also a list of what you propose to do with your windfall. We’ll meet here in two days’ time. See me after the meeting so we can find a mutually agreeable time to meet.”

“Yes, sir,” Charlie managed to sputter as his pen skittered over the back of his agenda. He was already hard at work on the list, and wondering why only his reserve had been chosen. It didn’t seem fair that someone would want their money to be used for just one reserve, when they all had needs that could be met by spreading the wealth. Maybe this person would turn out to be a repeat donor who liked to shower his wealth on one particular place with each donation. Charlie didn’t know and as there were projects that had been put on hold over the past year due to lack of funds, he wasn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth!

*****

“Bill!” Jeannine called when she heard the front door close behind her husband. “Could you come here please?”

Puzzled, Bill entered the kitchen and set his briefcase on the table. “What’s that?” he asked, looking at the envelope his wife held.

“Bill, did you make a donation of ten thousand pounds to Médecins Sans Frontières?” she asked. “I know we have the money, but I thought we’d agreed our donation would only be five hundred pounds this year.”

“No, I didn’t,” he said. “I wrote the cheque for only the amount we decided upon. Just a moment.” Frowning, Bill excused himself and ran up the stairs to his desk and pulled out their last two bank statements. He returned to the kitchen to show them to his wife. They poured over the papers and even called their bank to make sure only the amount of five hundred pounds had been subtracted from their account. It had.

Finally, Jeannine placed an international call to her brother in France. Pierre was delighted to hear that the organization he had been a part of for the last five years had received such a donation, but was just as puzzled by the fact that the donation was credited to his sister and her husband when they didn’t make it.

“Would you know of someone who could give us information about the donation?” Bill asked. “I’ll investigate from our end if you’d help us out there in France.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Pierre promised in rapid French. “I’m not sure who to ask, but I’ll do some digging. I’ll ring you if I find anything.”

“We’d appreciate it,” Bill said. Greetings were passed to other family members before the two hung up.

“Looks like I have some research to do tomorrow,” Bill commented as Jeannine followed him upstairs.

“I don’t know what to make of this,” Jeannine said. “I’m a bit worried that someone is trying to steal our identity.”

“That’s why I’m opening the investigation tomorrow,” Bill told her in his most reassuring tone. He opened his arms and she melted into his embrace.

Jeannine smiled up at him. “Let me know what I can do to help you, luv,” she said as she divested him of his tie.

Bill leaned down and kissed her. “You’re already helping,” he murmured as he kicked their bedroom door shut.

*****

In two other Weasley households, Percy and George opened their envelopes from the National Trust and Cancer Research UK respectively. Both men gaped at the letters, called their banks, and then Percy called George. Something was up, and while they were happy their pet organizations had received donations larger than they were able to give, they, too, didn’t like the fact that someone had made the donations pretending to be them.

Percy ran a hand through his hair as he said, “I’m just glad that the amount is something I can afford. I don’t think Mia will be too angry, but I’ll be in touch.”

“Charlotte’s just shaking her head at me. We’ll discuss this and maybe call Bill to see if he knows anything about it,” George said. “In the meantime, I’m just relieved that Cancer Research has a little more money to put towards developing new treatments… even if I didn’t give it.”

“I agree. Talk to you soon, George,” Percy said.

“Right back attcha.” George hung up and went to help Charlotte put their son to bed.

*****

Harry took the expected packet of letters from the Gringotts owl and the bird flew away directly. Smiling, he sat down at the kitchen table to read the copies of the notes sent with his donations. Almost immediately, his smile turned to a frown. Somehow, the goblins had worded the notes to say that Ginny’s brothers had made the donations, not that they had been made in their honour. As naïve as he was about such matters, Harry knew Ginny’s brothers might be angry if their organizations thought they’d made the enormous donations themselves when they hadn’t. There were other implications, too, that Harry didn’t want to think about. He grabbed a fresh piece of parchment and a quill and dashed off a note to Gemrok asking for the first available appointment that was open. When he finished, he automatically called, “Hedwig!”

There was no rustle of bird feathers as her wings unfolded, no answering hoot; Hedwig hadn’t come to his call for over five years. He’d sent her out one day during a lull in the war and she’d never returned. The memory hit him like a tonne of bricks. He sat back for a few seconds getting his composure back.

Then, he grabbed some Floo powder, stuck his head in the green flames, and called out, “Hermione’s Grange!”

When she answered his call, she looked a little more presentable than last time. He grinned at her as he apologized, “Sorry to call so early, but may I borrow Austen, please? I have an urgent letter to send.”

Hermione shook her head. “Of course, you can, but I really think you should get your own owl,” she chided.

“I think you may be right,” Harry said ruefully as Hermione stood up and reached for Austen’s cage. “I don’t send many letters, but having an owl of my own would be better than having to go to the Diagon Alley post office every time I need to send a letter.”

“See that you do,” she said, glancing at her watch. “Sorry to cut this short, but I’m now late for work.”

“Thanks. I’ll send her back home after she delivers my letter,” Harry told her as he took the owl in her cage and ducked out of the Floo.

“Well, Austen,” Harry said, addressing the owl, “I have a delivery for you. Take this to Gemrok at Gringotts. No need to stay for a reply. The goblins like to use their own owls, so you can fly back home as soon as you’ve delivered my letter.”

Austen seemed to understand and waited for Harry to shrink her cage and attach it and the letter to her leg. She then took off through the open window.

Two hours later, Harry took Gemrok’s reply from the Gringotts owl and read the goblin’s reply with a smile. He had exactly one hour to get himself to Charing Cross Road, so he grabbed the disputed letters and his car keys and headed for the bank. He needed to make the goblins print a “retraction.”

*****   
Two days later, Bill came home to find Jeannine waiting for him in the living room.

“Hello, mon cher,” she said as he set his briefcase on the hall table. “We’ve had another letter from Médecins Sans Frontières. It’s rather confusing. I don’t know what to make of it.”

Bill took the letter from her, his eyes skimming the typed words rapidly. “It’s almost like they’re printing a retraction,” he murmured more to himself than Jeannine. 

“Oui, I agree,” she said, coming to look at the letter over his shoulder. “I’m glad whoever made the donation is willing to set the record straight.”

“I am, too, luv,” Bill said as he handed the letter back and tugged at his tie. “What’s for dinner? I could eat a horse.”

“You’d look rather funny if you did,” Jeannine chuckled. “Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes.”

*****

Sunday dinner at the farm was an interesting affair as all of Ginny’s brothers discussed the donations made to their favourite charities around the table. While the whole idea was very nice, something was decidedly fishy about the scheme. She didn’t blame Bill, Percy or George for being suspicious, especially when Charlie told them about the very large donation to the reserve he worked at.

“It seems like someone is targeting Weasleys,” he joked, making everyone at the table frown.

She listened quietly as Bill held forth. “From the evidence I’ve been able to gather, the donation was made from an account at some obscure bank here in Great Britain. The cheque was a cashier’s cheque and cleared two days after it was deposited in the Médecins Sans Frontières account. The note that came with it explained that I was to be credited with the donation. Then, three days later, I received a letter saying that there had been an error in the wording of the first letter and that the donation was made in honour of Jeannine and me. What did you three discover?”

Percy said, “The National Trust received the same sort of thing. Our bank assured me that Mia and I are only responsible for the amount I sent back in February, not the amount someone else sent in our honour. If I decide to include my donation on this year’s taxes, I’ve been instructed to claim only the amount I sent, not the ten thousand pounds. Like I would be stupid enough to do that!”

George let out a sigh of relief. “I was instructed to do the same. I’m glad they added Fred’s name to the honour list. However, I just want to know who is doing this and why. It’s incredibly generous of them, but it still makes me uneasy.”

“I’m just hoping that if the person who sent the donation to the RSPB donates again, they will target other reserves,” Charlie chimed in. “It doesn’t seem fair to me that the place I work at can now make the improvements and conduct the studies we’ve wanted to do when so many of the other reserves need just as much.”

Ginny frowned at her plate, thinking hard. George was right to question the donor’s motive, but she didn’t think he or she meant her brothers any harm. It was as if the person was trying to get back into her good graces… She jerked a little as she made the connection. Could the donor be Harry Potter?

Her mother touched her arm. “Ginny, dear, are you all right?”

Ginny smiled. “I think I’m more than all right, Mum. I need to check on a few things before I tell you why,” she said. Things were happening fast, but all she could do was wait.

*****

Ginny let out a weary sigh as she opened her front door and inched carefully around the pile of mail that was scattered on the floor. After over a year of doing this she supposed she should be used to it, but if she was tired or preoccupied, she inevitably stepped on at least one envelope, a couple of times even nearly ending up on her backside when the envelope skidded underfoot. Maybe she should get George to help her engineer a basket she could put in place each day to catch the mail. Hmmm. Now that was a thought…

She picked up the mail and brought it to the kitchen table where she usually opened it, turned on the light and grabbed a lemonade from the refrigerator. As she passed the table on her way to her bedroom, the topmost envelope caught her attention.

“My note to Harry,” she murmured, frowning. She had been hoping to get a reply from him, but across the address was printed, “Return to Sender: Address Not Found.” 

_That’s not right,_ she thought as she picked up the envelope. _I’ve been in his house. Number twelve_ does _exist._

Setting the envelope back down on the table, Ginny opened her drink and took it with her to her bedroom. She pondered what she wanted to do about the letter as she changed into more comfortable clothes. There was only one thing to do, she decided, and that was to take a walk to see if she could deliver the letter herself. Now that she had a purpose, she quickly tied her trainers and went in search of the envelope, her keys and her phone. Going out to her car, she grabbed the sat nav system Bill had helped her choose when she moved to London and was forever getting lost. She switched it from vehicular mode to trekking mode and set off toward Harry’s house. 

When she arrived in the square, she walked to the garden plot in the middle and faced away from the houses with low street numbers and punched in “11 Grimmauld Place.” The little figure stood in front of the address and did the same when she typed “13 Grimmauld Place.” However, when she used “12 Grimmauld Place,” the little trekker didn’t appear. The square appeared, but not the destination she wanted. Ginny frowned and patted her pocket to make sure the letter was still there.

Turning around, she stared at the block of houses and was amazed to see number twelve sitting quite firmly between numbers eleven and thirteen.

“This confirms it. Magic is the only explanation for this!” she murmured as she crossed the street and approached number twelve. A very weird sensation suddenly battered her head, causing her to strongly want to go back home. It was a feeling she’d had several times, she suddenly recalled, and she wondered what would happen if she tried to approach eleven or thirteen, Grimmauld Place.

Smiling to herself, she tested her hypothesis… and was able to mount the steps of both houses without any trouble. She went back to number twelve and fought her way across the “line” that tried to persuade her to leave. Then, instead of knocking, she shoved the envelope under the door and left the premises. While she wanted to see Harry, she wasn’t ready to deal with his house. She didn’t see the black-haired, bespectacled man peering at her through the first-floor window.


	17. Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a new matchmaker in town...

**A/N:** We’ve come to one of my favourite chapters. There’s a new matchmaker in town and he features quite prominently in most of the sections. Let me know what you think of the new character in the comments. I always respond to my reviewers.

Thank you to Melindaleo, Mutt N Feathers, Brennus, and Cackling Stump for their help with this chapter.

**Chapter Seventeen**

Harry sighed as he tried to track Hermione down… again. He needed to use Austen to send a letter and Hermione had completely locked down her Floo connection. He’d fire-called several of their mutual friends, including Neville at Hogwarts, but no one knew where she was… or they weren’t telling _him_ once he told them why he needed to speak with Hermione. Was she avoiding him and his need for her owl because he’d asked one to many times? It seemed she was. _Damn!_

With a huge, frustrated sigh, he straightened up and headed for his bedroom, taking the letter he’d written with him. He was going to have to go to Diagon Alley to purchase an owl he really didn’t want to buy – mostly because he didn’t want to replace Hedwig – and he needed to disguise himself to look like the ordinary wizard he wasn’t… all because his best friend was tired of lending him her owl.

His preparations for this trip were a bit more elaborate than the previous few excursions, mostly because he thought a few people had recognized him the last time he’d ventured into the wizarding street. To make himself a little less conspicuous, he had purchased a bottle of Muggle talcum powder, which he now shook generously over his hair, turning the black locks grey. He then applied a small amount of concealing make-up (a product he’d seen in Ginny’s handbag) over his scar followed by some eye pencil “crow’s feet” at the eyes. The scar was still there, but it didn’t stand out like it usually did and the lines at his eyes made him look older than he really was. Happy with the results, he donned a set of Sirius’ old robes and the hat with a wide brim. He was now ready to go.

He stumbled out of the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron and smiled when he saw Hannah Abbott tending bar. His former classmate had weathered the war years right here at the pub as the initial contact for Muggleborns who needed to “disappear” off the Death Eaters’ radar. She and other Hufflepuffs like Susan Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie Macmillan had formed a network of safehouses that provided medical care, hot meals, a safe place to sleep, and a means of changing one’s identity before they left the country. Harry had used her services the time he’d nearly lost his left foot. Hannah had tutted at his rudimentary healing charms and promptly sent him to a wizard living in Bristol to get his leg healed properly. Harry had spent nearly two weeks hiding in the cellar of the safehouse learning proper healing charms and recovering from his injury. Eventually, the wizard pronounced him well enough to continue his hunt for the Horcruxes and generously stocked the kitchen of Harry’s tent with tinned meats and veg the night before he left because he wanted Harry to “do the wanker in” as quickly as possible.

Hannah looked up as he passed and held up a pint glass. Harry shook his head and pointed towards the entrance to Diagon Alley. She seemed to understand and returned his smile.

Eeylops Owl Emporium had been very busy during war, what with the Death Eaters capturing and maiming or killing nearly every owl the opposition had tried to fly. Sending a message via owl eventually had become as perilous as walking alone on a dark street just before the Battle of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, so the owner closed his shop when the demand for owls exceeded the supply. 

Now, almost three years after Harry had ended the war, business seemed to have settled back into its pre-war rate and the perches and cages were full of birds of all sizes. Harry smiled as he walked into the shop. He wanted an owl that had the stamina to fly long distances and the strength to carry a fairly large package. That meant that small owls like the Scops and Little Owls were not what he wanted because they were just a handful of feathers and only did local deliveries. Harry stopped next to a particularly attentive Scops owl.

“Hey, little buddy. I hope you find an owner today,” he told it. The owl seemed to understand, even as it shuffled to the other side of its perch, making Harry feel like a cad for having disappointed it.

The bigger medium- to long-distance owls were arrayed on perches in the middle of the shop. Harry stopped in the midst of the gathered birds, closed his eyes and listened to the rustle of feathers and the shuffling of bird feet. He heard a low, steady _hooo-hooo-hooo-hooo-hooo_ coming from his left and turned toward the sound. The bird kept on calling until Harry was standing in front of the perch occupied by a Long-eared Owl. The bird was mainly brown with grey and white speckles. It had its white-streaked ear feathers erected as far as they would stand, which gave it a surprised expression due to its huge amber eyes.

“Well, I’ll be!” exclaimed a quiet voice from behind Harry. “That owl hasn’t vocalized since it’s last owner returned it a month ago.”

“Why was it returned?” Harry asked the proprietor, a witch wearing an owl-print apron.

“The witch who brought it back told me it hissed at her constantly and wouldn’t come when called. Long-eareds only hiss when they’re alarmed. I think the poor thing was being harassed by the toddler the witch left outside with his daddy,” she said with not a small amount of disgust in her voice. She looked Harry up and down, then said, “You seem like the sort of calm person that bird needs. It picked you as a potential owner before you looked at any of the other owls.”

“Thank you,” Harry said. He held up his arm. “May I see if it will come to me?”

The witch smiled. “Be my guest.”

Harry turned towards the owl and smiled as the bird glided silently to land on his wrist. For as tall as the owl was, it felt lighter than Hedwig had been. Harry stroked its chest feathers and the owl leaned in to his touch.

“Male or female?” Harry asked, not taking his eyes off the owl.

“Male, about a year old. He has a guaranteed service life of nine to ten years,” answered the shopkeeper.

“I’ll take him,” Harry said, feeling rather fortunate to have been picked by this handsome owl. “I’ll also need a cage and a large supply of treats.”

The shopkeeper beamed and spoke directly to the owl. “I think you’ll have a good home with this wizard. Take good care of him and faithfully carry his mail. If he brings you back, it will be your own fault this time!”

The owl, who had relaxed his ear feathers while sitting on Harry’s arm, hissed at her and adopted his alarmed expression, making both Harry and the shopkeeper laugh while the owl inched his way up Harry’s arm to sit on his shoulder as if to tell them no such thing was going to happen. Harry was _his_ wizard!

Five minutes later, Harry walked out of the shop with the owl still on his shoulder. He looked around for a quiet place in which to speak to him. The street was busy, so Harry decided just to talk to the bird as he walked back to the Leaky Cauldron.

“You’ll be wanting to know where we live,” he said conversationally. “Our home is number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London. It’s a bit hard to find, but I know you’ll fly there directly. I have another errand to do before I go home, so enter through the kitchen window at the back of the house. There are plenty of chairs and even a perch near the fireplace to sit on. You can decide where you want to wait for me. I’ll have some names picked out by the time I get back.”

His owl bobbed up and down, then jumped off his shoulder, circled twice and headed out of Diagon Alley. Harry watched him go, hoping that turning him loose hadn’t been an expensive mistake.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry emerged from the stationery shop and headed for the Leaky Cauldron carrying a package of ink and several parchment rolls. He’d discovered that Muggles still made fountain pens and preferred to use those over the quills he had used at Hogwarts. They fit his hand better and didn’t drip unless they were shaken fairly hard.

He found a seat in a quiet corner of the Leaky Cauldron and pulled his hat further down his forehead.

“Well, hello there, handsome. Care for pint?”

“Hannah, I thought you’d never ask,” Harry said, smiling up at her. “What’s the lunch special today?”

“Lamb curry with rice. I recommend the house pale ale or a stout to go with it,” Hannah told him.

“How spicy?”

“Fairly. I like the ale with it best, myself,” she answered.

“The curry and ale sound great, Hannah,” Harry said. “Don’t tell anyone I’m here.”

Hannah winked at him as she turned away. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Mr Porter.”

Harry laughed at the name she’d used and settled back to think about names for his new owl.

When he entered his kitchen an hour later, Harry was greeted by a steady _hooo-hooo-hooo_ from the owl perch that stood next to the fireplace. He smiled and held up his arm. His new owl hop-glided to him and waited expectantly.  
“I knew you’d be here and I’ve picked out a name. How do you like ‘Whitehorn?’” he asked his owl.  
The bird cocked its head to one side as if considering the name, then gave one long, accented _hooue_ and shuffled up Harry’s arm to his shoulder where he began preening his owner’s messy hair. Harry smiled. “Whitehorn it is,” he chuckled. “I named you after the founder of the Nimbus Racing Broom Company. My first broom was a Nimbus. It was a special broom, just like you are a special owl.” He held up two letters. “Please take these to Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom. Stick around only long enough to make their acquaintances and then come home. I don’t need a reply from either of them,” he instructed.

Whitehorn stuck out his leg and Harry attached the letters. Then he walked out into the overgrown back garden and watched Whitehorn fly north towards Hogwarts. He wondered if the owl had chosen the longer distance to fly first because Hermione would be harder to deliver to if she was at work. Neville would be easier to reach any time during the day, even if he was teaching.

Harry sighed. It had taken him a long time to get over losing Hedwig. He was glad that Whitehorn had picked him rather than the other way around. Good matches, be they wands or owls, sometimes were best left to the object rather than the wizard, he thought. Somehow, he knew that he and Whitehorn made a good match.

* 

As he waited for Whitehorn to return from introducing himself to Neville and Hermione, Harry wiled away the afternoon by watching his favourite programmes on the telly. “Escape to the Country” was on today and like he always did while watching it, Harry daydreamed about owning a house like the ones he saw on the programme. It was nearing tea time when he finally hauled himself off his sofa, wondering what he wanted to make for himself. He was still a bit full from his excellent lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, so he didn’t want much. Maybe he’d make himself a small salad…

As he left the library, he was drawn into the sitting room by the bright light coming in through the front window that overlooked the square. Movement on the street below caught his attention. A lone, very recognizable figure with blazing red hair crossed from the walk to the garden plot in the middle of the square and stood with her back to number twelve as if testing something. Harry stepped back from the window a little so she wouldn’t see him when she turned towards the house. He watched in fascination as she worked out that there really was a number twelve, Grimmauld Place and finally mounted the steps to his house. He expected her to knock and was surprised when he heard something being slipped under the door. Her task complete, he watched her leave the square without a backward glance. It made him sad that he hadn’t had the gumption to race down the stairs and throw open the door to chase after her. Instead, he’d stood frozen in place and let her get away.

Harry now dashed down the stairs to the entrance hall to retrieve the object Ginny had shoved under the door and was heartened when it turned out to be a letter. Normally, he took all his correspondence up to his desk in the library, but now he stood rooted to the spot, tearing open the cream-coloured envelope. It barely registered that the postal service had returned the letter to Ginny because number twelve didn’t exist in the Muggle world.

_Dear Harry,_

_I regret that we parted so angrily. We need to talk about this like the adults we are. Would you please meet me at the espresso bar in Regent’s Park at one o’clock this coming Saturday?_

_Ginny_

Harry smiled as hope took up residence in his heart. If she was asking to meet him, then maybe his horrible spellwork had worn off and she was probably doubting his excuse about not wanting children. He hoped she wouldn’t be angry that he’d had to lie to her about so many things due to the Statute of Secrecy restrictions.

Since tomorrow was Saturday, he decided just to show up at the espresso bar and take the chance that Ginny would show up, too. 

* 

Hermione put down her fork, surprised to see a strange owl perched on her kitchen windowsill. Who had sent an owl at this time of night? It was nearly ten o’clock for Merlin’s sake! She grabbed her wand and approached the window cautiously, ready to hex the owl if the letter it carried turned out to be a Howler or something a little more dangerous. The owl tapped again, so she opened the window and watched it fly to the nearest chair and stick out its leg. 

“You seem friendly enough,” she told the bird and reached out to untie the letter, which turned out to be from Harry. She’d recognize his penmanship anywhere.

“You’re Whitehorn? Your owner is Harry Potter?” she asked with a smile. “Thank Merlin that boy’s come to his senses! Come over here, you handsome thing!” She held out her arm and beckoned to the owl. “It seems you’ve had a rather long flight. Come rest awhile and I’ll get you some water and some treats. You’ve done a great job delivering Harry’s letter.”

Whitehorn seemed to like the large perch she settled him on next to Austen. The two birds twittered quietly together while Hermione bustled about gathering an extra water dish and several owl treats. She then went back to the table to finish her own dinner. The last thing she did before washing up was to write a quick note to Harry, the theme of which was _It’s About Time!_

A few minutes later, Whitehorn took off towards home. 

*

Ginny groaned sleepily when her phone rang at half past three the following morning. “Hello?”

“Ginny, this is Beverley Montague, I need you to take an extra shift today. Two of the nurses are out on family leave and two more have the flu, so we’re short-handed.” She paused and Ginny could hear her shuffling papers. “Can you be here by eight?” 

“I can come in,” Ginny said without hesitation.

“Oh, thank you!” Beverley exclaimed, sounding relieved. “I will change your schedule to reflect that you’ll be starting your night shift rotation tomorrow night instead of tonight.”

“Thanks,” Ginny murmured.

Beverly said, “No problem. I’ll see you soon.”

They rang off and Ginny lay back down, sleep already trying to claim her again. Just as she drifted off, she thought of Harry. Would he be terribly disappointed when she didn’t show up? She had no quick way of contacting him to tell him she’d been called in and she was a little frustrated that he was going to think she had stood him up when she’d been the one to ask to speak with him. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t show up until next Saturday because of how she’d worded her note…

* 

Harry took the Underground to Regent’s Park because it was easier and more economical than trying to park a car near the park on a Saturday. He’d wanted to fly there on his broom, but that daydream was out of the question. He was quickly discovering that owning a vehicle had its drawbacks as well as its benefits.

He arrived at the espresso bar twenty minutes early, ordered a coffee and found a table in a corner next to the entrance. He sat patiently on the hard, wooden bench for over two hours, waiting for Ginny to show up. When the bar closed at four o’clock and she hadn’t turned up, Harry conceded defeat and returned home, unhappy and more than a little discouraged. He hoped there was an explanation for why she hadn’t come to her own meeting, but it still hurt that he’d spent all that time waiting for her.

Well, two could play that game, he decided. He’d write to tell her about his afternoon, then ask if she could meet him at a place of her choosing sometime during the week. He left the day and time open, too, so that she had the freedom to meet him as her work schedule dictated. When he was done, he left the letter on his desk, intending to put it in a letter box the next day. 

* 

Ginny took her lunch break about a quarter to one and sat moodily pushing her spoon through the chicken soup she’d purchased at the lunch counter. She knew she should eat it, but didn’t have the heart to because really, she was meant to be waiting for Harry at the espresso bar in Regent’s Park right now. She’d had her heart set on a piece of spinach quiche and a pain au chocolate to go with her coffee if it was chilly or a frozen latte, chicken wrap and crisps if the weather was nice. She’d daydreamed about what Harry would order. She’d missed him so much and now she was missing the opportunity to talk to him for the first time since their breakup. A lump formed in her throat as she dashed away a tear with her fingers.

“Are you all right? Patients giving you grief?” Ginny looked up to see her friend, Sally, standing next to her table. “May I sit down?”

“Please, sit,” Ginny said, gesturing to the chair opposite hers. “I’m… O.K. I’m just feeling sorry for myself.”

“In what way?”

“I was supposed to meet Harry right about now in Regent’s Park. We were going to talk about what happened between us, but I’m here and he’s there and I have no way to let him know I’m at work.”

“Don’t you have his phone number? What about an email address?”

“Harry doesn’t own a mobile or a computer, so there’s no way to let him know I have a reason for not meeting him.”

“Oh, that does make it hard,” Sally said sympathetically. “What are you going to do?”

Ginny sighed. “I don’t know. Write to him again, I reckon.”

Sally giggled, making Ginny frown. “Just think… you’re in the middle of an old-fashioned relationship.”

“How so?”

“It’s as if you’re dating two hundred years ago, Ginny. You know, when nobody had telephones or computers and the only way to arrange things between you was to write letters back and forth.”

“I see your point, but it still doesn’t have much to do with Harry and me.”

“Yes, it does. As soon as you get home, write a note explaining what happened and send it to him. It’ll make you both feel better, I think.”

Ginny considered this. She smiled at Sally, then. “Thanks,” she said. “I feel better already.”

“Good. Now stop moping and eat your soup,” Sally admonished.

Giggling, Ginny picked up her spoon as she said, “Yes, Mum.”

Now that she had a plan, the rest of Ginny’s day went much better.

* 

Harry was up with the sun, still full of negative energy from having been stood up by Ginny. He knew he needed to do something productive or he’d fall back to brooding over having Memory Charmed her. He considered his options as he made his way down to the kitchen, stopping halfway there to contemplate the wall containing Walburga Black’s ruined painting. He’d always intended to get rid of it, but hadn’t had the energy to do so. Now that he did, all he needed was a sledge hammer…

He returned to his bedroom and quickly found some appropriate clothes for bashing in walls. Then, he sat on the stairs and contemplated how he wanted to go about this. He needed to cover the floor underneath the painting to catch the debris and protect the finish on the floor. He needed a rubbish bin to put the old curtains and pieces of the picture frame in. Lastly, he needed the implement of destruction: he was certain he’d seen a sledge hammer in the overgrown potting shed that sat at the back of his back garden. He didn’t think the painting would fight back if he finished destroying it the Muggle way.

It took him twenty minutes to gather his supplies and prep the area for his project. When he was ready, he opened the curtains and waited for Mrs Black to start screeching. Nothing happened, so Harry yanked on the curtains, pulling hard enough to rip the rod out of the wall, along with two big chunks of the plaster. It fell with a clatter and a cloud of dust.

When he finished coughing, Harry called to Sirius’ painting, “Say good-bye to your mum, Sirius! I’m evicting her!”

Sirius’ portrait called down to him, “Way to go, Prongslet! Give the hag a good send-off!”

“I certainly will!” Harry hollered and swung the sledge hammer into the middle of the slashed area of the painting. Plaster, pieces of canvas, and dust flew in all directions while cracks appeared behind the ruined portrait. He grinned. This was going to be _fun!_

After the first blow, Harry was a bit more cautious about how he wielded the hammer. He took his time because he didn’t want to destroy the framework of the wall behind the canvas, just the plasterwork it was stuck to. He’d found a box of very old hand tools in the potting shed that he used to create an outline for his work area and he had great fun prying the old frame off the wall with a rusty crowbar he’d found next to the boiler cupboard in the kitchen where Kreacher used to sleep. What it was doing there, he had no idea.

Before he could tackle the plaster under the canvas, he needed to tidy up a bit, otherwise he was apt to break an ankle stepping on the bits of broken picture frame. He took his time stuffing the pieces into bin bags to take down to the kitchen. The rubbish bin down there was bigger than the one in the library. It gave an almighty belch as it swallowed the splintery contents.

Back upstairs, Harry started working at making his original hole larger. He took his time peeling away the old plaster and lath boards until he had a gaping hole in his wall. With a predatory smile, he Vanished the remains of Walburga Black’s portrait as Sirius, James and Remus cheered from their canvases.

“I wish I’d thought to use Muggle tools when I was living here,” Sirius told him an hour later as Harry wearily climbed the stairs with a sandwich in one hand, and a butterbeer in the other. “That looked like a great stress reliever… not to mention a lot of fun.”

“I think you’d have tried eventually,” Harry told him.

“Did my mum give you any trouble getting her off the wall?”

“No, she didn’t. The night I slashed her canvas I pretty much did her in. All that was left to do was separate the plaster from the studs in the wall. Now that she’s gone, I think I’m clear to consider the house truly mine.” Harry searched Sirius’ face. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not in the least, Harry. This house is yours to improve as you see fit,” Sirius said, “and you’re doing a magnificent job.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. It means a lot,” Harry said as he turned to finish his climb. “Good night.”

The lamps on the stairs and in the downstairs hallway dimmed as Harry walked into the library and turned on his telly to watch the evening news. It wasn’t very interesting and his thoughts turned to Ginny and the letter he’d written to her yesterday. He had sealed the envelope and taken it with him to the kitchen when he went down to make his sandwich, but something he’d written was nagging at him. However, he was too tired to go down to the kitchen right now and get it. He’d reread it in the morning. 

He yawned as he turned off the set and found Hermione’s book on home repairs to read up on magical methods of plastering before going to sleep. After his strenuous day, he felt like an accomplished and happy homeowner.

* 

Whitehorn loved his new owner. His wizard was quiet and even tempered and he openly showed Whitehorn his affection with soft strokes or scratches on the head that felt wonderful. His house was calm and easy to fly into. There were no little children trying to pull his tail feathers out or older owls stealing his food here. When he went out to hunt, prey was plentiful and easily caught. Most of all, he loved his new owner because there were many letters to deliver. When he sent Whitehorn with his post, his wizard’s friends were calm. He especially liked the bushy-haired female because she was generous with the owl treats and let Whitehorn rest on her owl’s perch. In short, because his new home was such a good place to live, Whitehorn wanted to be the best postal owl his wizard had ever owned.

So it was that Whitehorn watched carefully as his wizard set a completed letter on the kitchen table, then left the room without giving him any instructions. This puzzled the owl because he could feel the magic telling him where to take the letter. It didn’t matter that the recipient was a Muggle. If his wizard intended to send the letter, then Whitehorn would take it.

He hopped off his perch and flapped once to get to the table. It took him several tries to get a good grip on the envelope with his beak, but once it was secure, Whitehorn flew to the open kitchen window and out into the night. 

He landed several minutes later on a window box next to a door. There were no windows open and something told him the letter’s recipient wasn’t home and wouldn’t be home for quite some time. He didn’t want to leave, so he gently set the letter amongst the flowers. He wouldn’t abandon the letter that seemed important to his wizard. Hopefully, the Muggle would come home soon so he could give it to her. With that thought, Whitehorn tucked his head under his wing and dozed.

* 

Ginny returned to her flat about half seven on Monday morning after her first night shift duty of the week. She was tired and ready for bed.

“Ginny! Hey, Ginny!”

She turned to see her upstairs neighbour hailing her from her window. “Mrs Ackerman, hello. What can I do for you?” she asked.

“Wait there. I’ll come down,” came Mrs Ackerman’s response. “That way I won’t have to yell and startle the poor thing.”

Puzzled, Ginny waited on the drive.

“Ginny, you’ll never guess what’s in your window box,” Mrs Ackerman puffed as she bustled up to Ginny. “An owl! I thought it was a new statue you’d put there before going to work yesterday, but it’s _real!_ It hissed at me when I approached it. Should I call someone to take it to an animal shelter?”

Ginny peered over Mrs Ackerman’s shoulder at the window box. Sure enough, an owl was sitting quite calmly on the edge of the window box, holding a letter in its beak! “I don’t think that will be necessary,” she said without taking her eyes off the bird. “It looks quite tame to me. Thank you for telling me about it.”

“All right,” Mrs Ackerman acquiesced sceptically. “But don’t come crying to me if you get bit.”

“I’m a nurse. I think I know first aide for animal bites,” Ginny told her with a smile. 

Mrs Ackerman shook her head and hurried back to her flat, leaving Ginny to get her first really good look at the owl. “I’d say you are another of the anomalies that comes with knowing Harry Potter,” she said softly as she approached her door. “Have you been here long?”

The owl cocked its head to one side, tilting the letter and making Ginny laugh as she inserted her key in the lock and threw open the door. It didn’t surprise her one bit when the owl flew into her flat and perched on one of her kitchen chairs.

“Is that a letter from Harry?” she asked the owl. It blinked at her and she decided that the only thing to do was try to take the letter. She didn’t have to. As soon as she held out her hand, the bird dropped the letter into it and fluttered out the open front door. Obviously, it wanted to go home. Ginny watched it go, then turned back to the letter.

*

Even though he’d stayed up late the night before reading about magical plastering methods, Harry was awake at his usual time… early. That didn’t mean he wanted to be up and out of bed, but his need for the loo pre-empted his wish to turn over and go back to sleep. He grabbed his clothes for the day and headed towards the bathroom.

His morning ablutions complete, Harry ambled down to the kitchen in search of breakfast and his morning cuppa... but not necessarily in that order.

“Good morning, Whitehorn!” he called as he entered the kitchen.

When no answering hoot came from the corner near the fireplace, Harry looked in that direction to find the perch bare. Whitehorn was probably still out hunting and would come back when he’d consumed what he’d caught. This owl seemed to be rather fastidious about eating his prey outside and Harry had to wonder what had made Whitehorn so careful. Hedwig had almost always brought her meal into his room and he had watched in fascination as she had delicately consumed numerous mice, frogs and squirrels in his company. Harry had thought watching Hedwig eat a bit disturbing at first, but over the years, he had often saved whatever food the Dursleys gave him and ate it with his owl. The mutual meal had always been comforting to him. He sighed. Those days were over and because times were now different, he wanted to find another way to bond with Whitehorn. He somehow needed to feel as close to him as he had been with Hedwig.

The kettle whistled, getting Harry’s attention. He poured water into his teapot and carried it over to the table, intent on rereading the letter he’d written to Ginny. However, the letter was gone… and if the letter _and_ his owl were gone, that meant only one thing…

_Bugger!_

*

The letter was written on very fine paper, parchment she decided, something she had seen only a few times in her life, mainly her certificate for leaving school and her university diploma. She had only seen Harry’s handwriting once or twice, so she admired his precise penmanship before really paying attention to what his words said.

_My dearest Ginny,_

The greeting sent a thrill through her, giving her hope that Harry still loved her.

_It wasn’t until after I spent nearly three hours waiting for you today at the espresso bar that I took a good look at the envelope your note came in. Had I realized the postal service returned the envelope to you, I would have made a bigger effort to contact you prior to our meeting: You didn’t indicate a specific date, so I took my chances that you meant the closest Saturday to the day I received the note, today. Please understand that I am not angry about the mix-up, just a little sad that we missed the opportunity to have the conversation we so desperately need to have._

_I really want to see you and I would prefer not to wait until next Saturday. I can meet you whenever it’s convenient for you, wherever you choose. Please leave your reply in the window box outside your front window. I have resumed my twice daily walks and will look for your letter there._

_With all my love,_

_Harry_

Ginny’s heart was pounding as she finished reading the letter. She felt horrible that she had agreed to the extra shift on Saturday when she had no way of letting Harry know she wasn’t going to be waiting for him at the espresso bar. It actually sounded like he was forgiving her for not being where she said she would be when he had every right to be ticked off at her.

_That’s my Harry,_ she thought as she reached for a piece of stationery and her calendar to choose the place, date and time for him to meet her. Then she wrote a full explanation of why she hadn’t come to the espresso bar and gave him two options to meet her.

*

Harry waited impatiently for Whitehorn to come back home. What had possessed his owl to try to deliver a letter to a Muggle? Was it the fact that he’d left the letter on the table within plain sight of his owl? Or was Whitehorn so eager to please his new owner that he took it upon himself to try to deliver it? He didn’t know and as the hours crept by, Harry began to worry.

*

Whitehorn flew swiftly back to his new home. He was feeling quite pleased with himself that not only had he protected his owner’s letter through the night, but had personally given it to the non-magical female his owner meant to have it. Whitehorn was absolutely sure that this female was his owner’s mate; the magic surrounding his owner’s letter made that perfectly clear. He arrived back home just as the sun began peeking in the kitchen windows to find his owner sitting at the table with his head in his hands.

Whitehorn glided down to settle in front of his owner, who didn’t look up. This puzzled the owl. Had he not done a good job of delivering the letter? He hooted softly and reached out with his beak to straighten some of his owner’s dark feathers. This made his owner look up.

“Whitehorn, do you still have my letter?” his owner asked. “Or did you deliver it?”

Whitehorn turned his head towards the window he’d entered.

His owner sounded sad and disappointed as he said, “If she has it, what’s done is done. Thank you for taking it. You did a good job.” He stood up and offered his arm to Whitehorn who happily hopped on and quickly sidestepped up to his owner’s shoulder. Whitehorn put a few more of his owner’s feathers in place. The two of them went over to the perch by the fireplace and before he tucked his head under his wing, Whitehorn uttered three low _hooous_ in the hope that they would make his owner happier.  
It seemed like no time had passed when Whitehorn suddenly awoke from a sound sleep; the bright morning light had gone from the kitchen to be replaced by clouds, leaving the room in shadow, so his rest had been a rather long one. He cocked his head to one side while trying to discern what had awakened him. He listened for his human and heard wet splats coming from the upper floor of the house. Whitehorn decided the sounds hadn’t been loud enough to awaken him and if his owner was working on the house, he hadn’t called for a delivery. The call came again. If owls could smile, then Whitehorn would have done so: His owner’s mate had finished a letter of her own to his owner. Fluffing his feathers, Whitehorn prepared for another flight to the window box, then flew swiftly out of the kitchen window into the rain.

*

Ginny stood at her living room window holding her letter to Harry and scowling at the rain that fell steadily outside. She knew Harry usually walked in all weather, but that didn’t mean that she wanted to stand out in the wet until she absolutely had to. She wasn’t relishing the soggy walk to the Underground station.

Movement outside her window caught her attention and she looked up eagerly, trying to spot Harry. Instead, the same owl that had delivered Harry’s letter this morning was now pecking at the glass! Did it want in? More to the point, _why_ would it want in?

She crossed the room to the front door and stepped outside. The owl hopped up on the edge of the window box and stuck out its leg while looking alternately between Ginny and her letter.

“Am I supposed to tie this to you?” she asked.

The owl waited and when she didn’t move, bobbed its head as if answering her.

“I don’t have any string. Can you take this in your beak?”

The owl put its leg down and opened its beak. 

“All right. Here, take it to Harry,” Ginny said, feeling rather silly conversing with an owl. Then, she walk forward enough to allow the owl to take the letter. As soon as the owl had a good purchase on the envelope, it launched itself toward Grimmauld Place. She watched as it became a swiftly disappearing speck in the sky. When it was gone, she returned to her flat to get an umbrella and her bag. It was time to go to work.

*

Harry stepped back and admired his handiwork. The wall looked pretty good. It had taken some trial and error, but eventually, he had mastered the fine art of covering the magically secured lathe boards with plaster. He grinned as he added a very thin, finishing coat over the rougher base layers and cast a smoothing spell that evened out texture of the wall. A drying spell followed and Harry sat down on the steps, a bit tired and rather proud of how his efforts had turned a bad day into a better one.

He couldn’t blame Whitehorn for taking the letter. After all, he had left it in plain sight on the kitchen table. What puzzled him was how his owl had known who to take it to. Ginny was a Muggle! Post owls weren’t trained to take letters to Muggles… or were they? If his owl wasn’t trained to deliver to Muggles, then there had to be a magical reason why Whitehorn had been able to deliver to Ginny. So, what was it? He knew owls had come many times to Privet Drive while he was at Hogwarts: it was school policy to write to a student’s parents any time the student was given detention or took up a bed in the hospital wing. With as many times as Harry had been in trouble or in the hospital wing, Aunt Petunia learned to loathe post owls. The only trouble with delivery to the Muggles in Privet Drive was the fact that his aunt’s house was considered his permanent residence year-round, so there was magic attached to his relatives, even if there was no love between them. Because Ginny was a Muggle, there shouldn’t be any magical tied to her… was there? Could _love_ be considered magical enough to tie her to him? The Unspeakables at the Ministry probably thought so. After all, they had an entire room dedicated to the study of love’s mysteries. Could the letters he wrote to Ginny contain enough love to inspire Whitehorn to play matchmaker? As he stood to begin cleaning up from his project, Harry pondered the question.

*

Whitehorn happily flew through the kitchen window, and without stopping at his perch, made a bee line for the door to the parts of the house he’d never been in. The staircase was quite narrow and it was hard to fly here, so he lost momentum as he rose higher in the space. Finally, his talons made a quiet clattering noise as he landed on the top step. He could hear his owner muttering to himself and with a little jump, flew the rest of the way. It was with a happy _hoo-hoo_ that Whitehorn dropped the female’s letter on his owner’s head.

*

“Whitehorn? What’s going on?” Harry asked as the letter tumbled to the floor.

His owl had settled on the newel post and was looking at him with his head cocked to one side. This seemed to be the universal owl equivalent of “open the stupid letter, you idiot.” 

Harry studied the letter. His name and most of his address was written on the back of the envelope in Ginny’s lovely handwriting.

“How did you know Ginny needed to send me a letter?” he asked the very wet bird as Whitehorn fluffed his feathers and showered him with water drops. “Hey! Stop that! Harry laughed. “I thought you were sleeping downstairs.”

Whitehorn’s wet ear feathers stood up on his head as he began to sway back and forth on the post. Harry shrugged. “I know you’re trying to tell me something, buddy, but I don’t understand what. Maybe this letter will help.”

He opened the envelope and sat down on the stairs. Whitehorn took the opportunity to hop onto his shoulder. It was almost as if his owl was reading over his shoulder. Harry stroked his head absently as he began to read. Almost immediately, he began murmuring phrases like “she did have to work,” and “she still wants to meet with me!” He stood up once he’d finished reading and said to his owl, “Come with me, Whitehorn. If you’re going to play matchmaker, I have another letter to write!”


	18. Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Ginny finally get to have their long-anticipated talk.

**Author’s Note:** Last week, I promised you that Harry and Ginny would meet. After needing a matchmaker to fix all the ruffled feathers, it’s finally happening. I hope you enjoy the chapter. Please let me know what you think in the reviews. I’m looking forward to responding to your comments.

Thank you so much to the efforts of my editors Melindaleo, Mutt N Feathers, Brennus and Cackling Stump for the suggestions, comma/semi-colon help and comments that make this chapter the best it can be.

**Chapter Eighteen**

Two official-looking envelopes were in his mailbox when Ron went down to get his mail. He bounded back up the stairs to his flat and sat at his desk to open them with trembling hands. The letters were from the two companies he had second interviews with a month ago and, hoping against hope, he began to read.

The first letter was very polite. It thanked him for coming for a second interview, but unfortunately, the company wanted someone with a little more experience. Ron immediately threw that one in the bin.

The second letter had him sitting on the edge of his chair and bouncing with excitement as he came to the end. This company wanted to hire him! They were offering him a job as a website developer and wanted him to start immediately. It wasn’t a gaming job, like he wanted, but if he stuck with it, he’d have a portfolio of work he could show potential gaming employers five years down the road. More importantly, however, was the fact that the letter offered him a _job_. A company wanted _him_ as their employee. Suddenly, life looked a whole lot brighter.

He reached for his mobile as he reread the letter and punched in the number provided by the company. Ten minutes later, he had the information he needed. He speed-dialled Ginny’s number, hoping she would answer, but the call went straight to her voice mail. 

“Ginny, this is Ron. Please call me as soon as you get this message. I have news,” he said. He ended the call and called him mum’s number.

“Ron, are you all right? You usually don’t call during the day,” his mum said, sounding concerned.

“I’ve had a letter from a company in Exeter, Mum!” Ron told her excitedly. “They offered me a job creating websites and I’ve accepted!”

“Oh, Ron! I’m so happy for you. You’ll come to dinner tonight and tell us all about it,” she instructed. 

Ron chuckled. “Absolutely. May I bring Patti? We are supposed to get together tonight and I know she’d like to be there when I tell you about what I’ll be doing.”

“Of course. The more the merrier. Come at seven and we’ll have a little party,” his mum said and Ron easily pictured her taking inventory of her kitchen cupboards as she began planning the menu like she’d done so many other times when he and his siblings had brought home good news.

“See you soon, Mum.”

He ended the call and let out a whoop of joy. He was employed again!

*****

The neighbourhood Italian restaurant opened at eleven. Harry had been too nervous that morning to eat any breakfast, so he arrived thirty minutes early in order to be first in line to get a good table for his discussion with Ginny. He chose one of the outdoor tables since it was such a pleasant day and sat with his back to the wall, looking out towards the street.

He’d been there about twenty minutes when the door to the restaurant opened and Silvio, the owner, stuck his head out. “Mr Potter, I thought that was you!” he exclaimed happily. “Welcome!” He shut the door and a moment later backed out carrying a menu, a pitcher of water and a glass, all of which he set on the table. “We’re not quite ready for customers, but it will only be a few more minutes before we open.”

“Quite all right, Silvio,” Harry said. “I know I’m here too early, but I wanted to get a good table because I’m having lunch with a friend.”

“Very good. I’ll bring another glass and a menu when your friend arrives,” Silvio said, smiling at Harry. He bustled back into the restaurant, leaving Harry to his thoughts.

*****

Ginny exited her front door, automatically looking for the owl that had been such a frequent visitor the last few days. When it wasn’t sitting in her window box, she felt a momentary pang of sorrow until she remembered where she was going. Knowing Harry, he would already be sitting at their table, and one look at her watch told her she would be late if she didn’t hurry.

The two block-long walk took only five minutes and as she rounded the corner, she spied Harry sitting by himself at one of the tables, seemingly watching the world go by. His back was to the wall and she wondered if he always tried to get tables from which to monitor his surroundings. She didn’t remember him doing that _before_ , but she supposed old habits die hard. She stopped walking, just out of sight behind a hedge, and watched him, her heart fluttering in her chest. She’d forgotten just how handsome Harry was…

She had been standing in her hiding place for several minutes when he turned his head in her direction. A slow, lopsided smile grew on his face and she knew that he knew she was watching him. Her own time of observance was up, so she stepped out from behind the hedge and closed the distance between them. Harry stood up as she stopped at their table.

Her voice shook as she nervously squeaked, “Hello, Harry.” 

At the same time, Harry murmured, “It’s good to see you, Ginny.”

They stood gazing at each other for several long moments before Harry visibly shook himself and pulled out the chair next to him. “Would you like to sit down?” he asked.

Ginny could only nod and Harry helped her scoot under the table. She clutched her handbag tightly with both hands while he resettled himself.

“How are you?” they both asked at the same time and Ginny felt the tell-tale heat of a blush creep up her neck. Harry looked away for a moment, then turned back to look at her.

She tried again… “I’m sorry,” only to have Harry say the same thing.

They were saved further embarrassment in the form of Silvio, who brought a tray of bread, dipping oil, two small plates, a glass, and a menu which he handed to her.

“Miss Weasley, it’s been so long!” he exclaimed as he poured water into her glass.

Finding her voice at last, Ginny said, “I’ve been working the night shift.”

“That explains it,” Silvio beamed at her. “It’s good to see you all the same.” He turned to Harry. “Shall I give you a few minutes?”

“Please.”

Silvio bustled over to greet another couple, leaving Ginny and Harry sitting in awkward silence. Finally, Harry said, “Thank you for writing to me. I probably wouldn’t be sitting here if you hadn’t.”

“What makes you say that?” Ginny asked curiously.

“I did something the night we broke up that I’m not very proud of,” Harry admitted sheepishly. “I jumped to conclusions and acted on what I thought was right and my actions made both of us miserable.”

Ginny sighed. “I don’t think either of us was acting particularly mature that night.”

“You don’t understand. What I did hurt us both,” Harry insisted.

“Does it have anything to do with the fact that you’re a wizard?”

Harry’s eyes grew wide as saucers. “How…how do you know about that?” he sputtered, confirming her hypothesis. “Do you remember?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes, I have remembered, but it took a while to work it out on my own,” Ginny explained. “I started having dreams about three weeks after we broke up. It took me that long to start wondering if what you said about not wanting children was true. There were too many contradictions with what we’d talked about last summer and that’s when I started dreaming about a house in which the portraits moved and talked. They were the only dreams I remembered, so I knew they were important.”

“But if you only talked to the portraits, how did you come to the conclusion I was a wizard?”

“It took a few nights, but gradually, I started exploring the house. I realize now that I only visited rooms I’d been in, and with each dream I was given a little more insight into the truth. What is Hogwarts?”

Harry grinned, shook his right arm and suddenly the neighbourhood sounds felt a bit muted to Ginny. She raised an eyebrow at him as he commented, “Just about the best wizarding school in Europe. I went there for six of the required seven years.” He suddenly scowled before adding, “I never finished school.”

“Did you just cast a spell?” Ginny interrupted curiously.

“Yeah, I did. Some of what we’re going to be talking about shouldn’t be heard by other people.”

“Will you get in trouble if we talk about it? Isn’t the issue of secrecy at the heart of our problem?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. There’s something called the Statute of Secrecy that says non-magical people are not to be told about the wizarding world and if they are, they have to be Obliviated. When you didn’t accept my being a wizard, that’s what I did to make you forget what I really am.” Harry’s voice was so soft that Ginny had to lean in to hear him.

“If I was supposed to forget, why did I start remembering?” she asked.

Harry looked off into the distance. He seemed to be struggling with his answer. “Remember how I told you I’d been sick for a long time?” Ginny nodded. “Well, part of my recovery was not to do any magic until I was cleared to do so.”

“I remember you saying something like that that night,” she murmured

Harry’s voice was a bit stronger as he continued, “The spell is a difficult one that takes a lot of magical power to seal off the memory of what someone is to forget. When I cast the spell, it was the first one I’d done in three years. My magic wasn’t strong enough because I hadn’t used it. My healers think I used up nearly all my magical reserves trying to make you forget our conversation. It… it nearly killed me,” he choked.

*****

He hadn’t meant to let his emotions get so out of hand. It was just that they were being so honest with each other that it came naturally to him to tell her everything. The trouble was, he hadn’t counted on how raw it would make him feel, how stupid, how…

He jumped when he felt Ginny take his hand. Her hand was warm and soft. He felt somewhat reassured as she squeezed and asked, “You made yourself sick to protect me when you thought I was rejecting you?”

Harry nodded. “I did. If I’d just let you leave, maybe you would have taken a week to think about it or maybe I would have tried to talk to you and we could have had this conversation so much sooner,” he said, finally looking at her. “Do you remember if it was the magic you were afraid of or the fact that I had to lie to you about so many things?”

Ginny’s hand stayed where it was as Silvio approached their table, his order pad and pen in his hands. They ordered and as Silvio left the boundaries of his Silencing Charm, she said, “It was a little of both, I think. It frightened me that I’d fallen in love with someone who could be so deceitful so easily. It made me wonder if you were lying about loving me.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry blurted, looking anywhere but at Ginny. “I never meant you to question my love for you!”

“I know that now,” Ginny said. “But it wasn’t until I started having those dreams that it all became clear and I suddenly knew I was the one hurting you instead of the other way around.”

“I never meant to hurt you. As soon as you accepted my proposal, I knew I had to be honest about who I was, despite the Statute, damn the consequences!”

“Did you get in trouble?”

“No, the Ministry of Magic hasn’t sent me any letters reprimanding me for telling you,” Harry said as Silvio approached their table with their meals. They ate in silence for a few moments.

Then, Ginny asked, “Why didn’t you finish school? Lots of people don’t and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I just want to know if my theory is correct.”

Harry welcomed the change of subject. “I didn’t finish because there was a wizarding war going on,” he began. “The wizard who killed my parents had come back to England to gather more followers, more power, and to finish me off after thirteen years’ absence. It took him an additional three years to become powerful enough to start attacking both wizards and non-magical people. By the time I was about to enter my seventh and last year of schooling, he was powerful enough to make both our worlds, and me in particular, miserable. You remember the collapse of the Brockdale Bridge? That wasn’t an engineering miscalculation, it was Voldemort and his followers who weakened it. It was because of him that I went on the run with Hermione to gather what we needed to stop him.”

“Why were you his target?” Ginny asked, a forkful of chicken parmigiana halfway to her mouth.

“A prophecy had been made before I was born…” Harry said, feeling grateful to at last be sharing the truth about himself with Ginny. He told her what it said, how knowing he was a marked man made him feel and how long he and Hermione had struggled to obtain the Horcruxes.

“The nurse in me needs to know how you were hurt so badly. Did it happen at your last battle?” Ginny asked as she pushed a piece of lettuce through the last bit of dressing on her plate.

Unconsciously, Harry touched his abdomen as he replied, “Yes, it was the last spell Voldemort ever cast.”

“Did it do anything besides give you those awful scars?”

“The spell caused a lot of internal damage, but it was nothing compared to the psychological component of the spell,” Harry said, more to the buildings across the street than to Ginny. “It took away my ability to love, the emotion Voldemort never understood, and my lack of positive emotions prevented my physical healing. It was a vicious cycle; I couldn’t physically heal unless I developed positive emotions, b ut the physical pain made me miserable, resulting in my pushing away anyone who tried to support me.”

Ginny looked confused. “Then how were you able to love me enough to ask me to marry you?”

Harry grinned for the first time in nearly two hours. “He died before he could fully power the incantation. Intent is everything when you cast a spell as Dark as that one was and Voldemort wanted to do quite a few things to me with one spell. Mine had one purpose and it cut off his intent. It’s the reason I’m alive today.”

*****

“There has to be more to it than that,” Ginny said while reaching for the pitcher to refill her glass. “I’m assuming that you couldn’t love anyone after you awoke from your coma, so how did you progress so fast?”

Harry blushed as he murmured, “It took nearly a year for me to be civil to anyone. It was as if Voldemort had put a barrier in my mind that prevented me from connecting with anyone emotionally for a good three months after I awoke, and then it was only the thinnest of friendships with Hermione. She persisted and eventually, I was able to connect emotionally with my other friends.” He sighed, offering her a smile. “It was you offering me compassion and friendship who helped me fully recover. I know that because it happened twice.”

“What do you mean?”

“The first time, last year, came on gradually,” Harry said. “Every time I was with you, I felt something inside me melt just a little more and my physical injuries started to improve as well. You know this because you asked me once why I wasn’t carrying my walking cane anymore.”  
“I remember that!”

“The second time, after I used that spell on you, our love brought me out of my coma not as a surly bastard, but as you see me now; happy, mostly well-adjusted, and hoping against hope that I haven’t screwed up so badly that you don’t want to know me.”

“Oh, Harry! You haven’t! I was miserable without you and my dreams just confirmed that I never want to be without you!”

Harry’s smile nearly split his face. He grabbed her hand and pulled her close enough to plant a kiss on her cheek. Ginny turned her head and kissed him right back.

“Are you finished?” Harry asked. When she nodded, he wiggled his arm, causing the sounds around them to come back in full force, and called to Silvio, “Bill, please!”

Five minutes later, Ginny asked, “Where shall we go? My place? Your place? The park?”

Harry’s expression turned mischievous. “Want to see some more magic?”

*****

By unanimous consent, they went to Grimmauld Place. As they entered the square, Ginny asked, “Is there a reason your side of the square is reasonably well-kept and the houses on the other side look ready to be knocked down?”

Harry stopped walking and surveyed the neighbourhood. “Eleven years ago, it all looked like that,” he said. “The first time I came here there were rubbish piles, broken windows and peeling paint on all the doors. It stayed like that for a long time, but while I was out hunting down Dark wizards, someone bought this house on the corner—” he pointed to it “—and did a lot of work to make it liveable again. Hermione says that while I was in hospital after the battle other people started doing renovations so that my side didn’t look quite as derelict. It’s one reason I’ve poured so much money into my house, at least the front. I know people can’t see it, but if they ever were, I want it to look just as nice as the rest of the block. The back garden is another thing entirely; it’s still terribly overgrown.”

“Who takes care of the garden plot,” Ginny asked, pointing to the flowers and shrubs growing in raised beds in the middle of the square.

“The residents on my side of the square,” Harry told her. “There’s a bed for every house on the square, even though half of the houses are boarded up still. Since no one knows that number twelve exists, I’ve recently taken over one of the unused beds. Would you like to take a look?”

Ginny murmured enthusiastically and the two crossed the street and wandered into the garden. She smiled at the brass numbers attached to each bed. “You can tell which beds are tended by families with children,” she commented, pointing at one on their left. “I love the rows of sunflowers and marigolds in this one. And look, that one is attempting tomatoes and squash! How fun!” She pointed to the bed belonging to Harry’s next-door neighbour, a single woman. “Then, there’s this one filled with rose bushes. You know this one has to be tended by a single adult.”

“How do you know all this?” Harry asked.

“It comes naturally by observance,” Ginny told him. “Sunflowers and marigolds and veg are flashy and easy to grow, so children stay interested in them, while roses need a lot of constant care to keep them looking nice and bug free, but at the same time, they can be left alone for a long time and they still will look beautiful.”

Harry grinned. “OK, Miss Smarty Pants, what does this plot tell you?” He walked up to his own plot, but didn’t tell Ginny who was looking after it.

She studied the bed that looked like a miniature garden. In the middle was a small rounded-top trellis that had a gravel path running under it. At the base of the supports, small vines were just beginning to climb the structure and next to them were petite azalea bushes that were just coming into flower. Around the outer rim of the bed was a mixture of tulips and daffodils.

“It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. “I can tell someone spends a lot of time here, someone who loves gardening. Do you know who gardens here?”

Harry could feel the heat of a blush creeping up his neck. “It’s mine. As much as I hated being made to weed and water and mow for my aunt and uncle, I learned to love watching the garden change during the summer,” he admitted.

Ginny smiled as she said, “I’m glad. What did you think about as you were creating it?”

“You,” Harry said quickly. “I can see the plot from my sitting room window because I’ve chosen colours that reminded me of you.”

Ginny’s expression grew thoughtful. “The vines. What are they?”

“Wisteria.”

“You think I’m steadfast?”

“No, you welcomed a stranger into your home when I needed help.”

Ginny nodded. “I did, didn’t I?” She paused and then asked, “What colour will the azaleas be?”

“Coral,” answered Harry. His cheeks suddenly took on faint blush. “The colour reminds me of your hair.”

“No one is attracted to this particular shade of ginger!” Ginny exclaimed, laughing and pulling at a strand of her hair.

“I am,” Harry assured her softly.

They were silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Ginny broke the silence.

“I think you chose the brown stone for the path because of my eyes?”

“Yes.”

“And the red tulips and golden daffodils? What do they represent?”

“Gryffindor.”

“Your school house. The home of the chivalrous and those passionate for their causes?”

“Erm, yes, to that, too.” Harry raised an eyebrow. “How did you know that?”

“The same way I know that wisteria means steadfast and daffodils represent chivalry… my grandmother who used to work in a flower shop.”

Harry smiled. “She taught you well. What would she say about my garden?”

“I think she’d say that I remind you of home, even though I’m a ginger,” she guessed. “Am I right?”

“You forgot that I think we go together rather nicely,” Harry admitted shyly. “I missed you so much, so planting a garden with these colours helped me cope.”

A tear trickled down Ginny’s cheek. “I missed you, too, Harry. I love that you’ve made something beautiful while we’ve been apart, even if the colour scheme is a bit weird.”

Harry held his breath as he asked, “Do you think we have a chance of truly reconciling?”

Ginny stepped closer to him and reached for his hand. “I think we might if we don’t keep things from each other,” she said.

Harry nodded and, not letting go of her hand, led her towards his house.

*****

Ginny paused just outside the enchantments guarding the house. “Harry, why can I see your house when my sat nav and other people can’t?” she asked.

Harry turned to her. “Because I told you the house exists.”

“Magic?” Ginny asked.

“Yes. A great deal of it,” Harry answered.

“Why would someone want the house not to be seen?”

“The short answer to a long story is that one of my godfather’s ancestors coerced the original owner of the house into selling it to him when he didn’t want to sell, and then hid it from him,” Harry answered.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Ginny commented as they mounted the steps and Harry unlocked the door.

“I never said all wizards were nice,” Harry chuckled as he let them in.

Ginny wandered over to the stairs. “What happened to the wall?” she asked as she took in the new, unpainted plaster. “Weren’t there curtains hanging here when I was here at Christmas?”

Harry cleared his throat, looking a bit sheepish. “You remember correctly. The curtains hid a particularly nasty portrait that wouldn’t come off the wall, so I made the plaster and the painting go away.”

“With magic?”

“Nope. A sledge hammer and a crowbar,” Harry informed her, chuckling. “The portrait was attached to the wall with a Permanent Sticking Charm and the only way to remove it was to destroy the plaster work.”

“That sounds like a mess. Will you need to paint the wall with brushes and rollers without magic?”

Harry grinned. “I’ll do it magically. It’s faster. Do you want to be here the day I paint?”

“I do.”

“Then let’s go upstairs and look at a calendar to see what day you’re free,” Harry suggested.

“We’d better do it soon because the battery on my phone is probably draining as we speak,” Ginny told him and they hastened to Harry’s desk in the library. 

It took only a few minutes to consult their respective calendars and then Ginny switched off her phone. 

“Tell me about Hogwarts,” Ginny prompted a few minutes later as they settled on the sofa with tall glasses of lemonade and a plate of ginger biscuits.

Harry was quiet for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. “It was my first real home,” he said, “the first place I felt I belonged. It was the first place where _I_ mattered and that feeling was so freeing that I think my head of house would tell you I blossomed. I made friends, I could eat until I was full, I was learning things that made sense in a way that nothing I’d learned in the Muggle world could.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Muggle? I’ve heard that word before,” she said.

Harry sighed. “You have. I called you a Muggle the night we broke up. It means non-magical person.”

“That’s not so bad,” she said. “Interesting that the word is both a noun and an adjective. So what sort of non-Muggle things did you learn at Hogwarts?”

Relief at her acceptance flooded through Harry as he began describing the Hogwarts experience. He explained what Potions class was and Transfiguration and Charms. Ginny quizzed him at length about his Astronomy and History of Magic courses, drawing parallels to things she remembered from her own science and history lessons. However, when he began describing Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry was reluctant to speak of his favourite subject, mostly because he wasn’t ready to tell her about how his part in the war played out.

Ginny, sensing his reluctance, asked, “Do you own a broom that flies?”

Startled, Harry nearly sprayed lemonade down his front. “How do you know I own one?”

She smiled. “You’re not the only one who likes to watch the sunset or is out at sunrise, you know.”

“You saw me?”

“I didn’t know it was you that evening you flew over my parents’ farm. I thought you were the resident hawk until you started doing loop-the-loops. Birds can’t do those,” she giggled. “And your glasses flashing in the sunlight were a dead giveaway the next morning. What made you choose that particular place to fly?”

Harry thought for a bit. Finally, he said, “I don’t really know. I just wanted to get out of London and I remembered how much open space there was in that part of the country. It wasn’t a conscious decision to spy on your family, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, I wasn’t. May I see your broom?”

“One moment,” Harry said, setting down his glass and hurrying out of the library. He came back a moment later holding his Firebolt.

“Isn’t that the one you used to sweep snow off my car at Christmas?” she asked.

“No, it isn’t. I used an older racing broom on Christmas, one I’d found in one of the rooms here at the house. Who would have thought I’d use a world class racing broom as a cleaning implement?” Harry said sheepishly. “Just don’t tell any of my Quidditch-rabid friends I did. I’ll never hear the end of it!”

“That would be like using professional football cleats to mow the lawn,” Ginny remarked. When Harry agreed with her association, she asked, “What’s Quidditch? You’ve mentioned it before.”

“A wizarding sport played on brooms fifty feet in the air. I was really good at it,” Harry told her. He rose from the sofa and went to the mantle where he’d placed a photo of his sixth year Quidditch team. He brought it back to show Ginny.

“That football game we went to last year, was that your first match?” she asked after he explained the positions. 

“It was, but I’d known about the sport forever, mostly because of my friend Dean, who was Muggle-born,” Harry said. He pointed to one of the people in the photo. “This is Dean. He played Chaser because he could never get the rest of us motivated to play football, no matter how much he liked both sports.”

Ginny took the photo and studied it. The only person she recognized was Dean. “Harry, did you show me Dean’s picture the night we broke up?” she asked.

Harry sighed. “I did. You were suspicious about how alive he looked when he tossed the ball he was holding. I was hoping that you’d accept the photo and the ones in my album as proof of magic, but you didn’t.” He sounded so sad that Ginny decided to change the subject.

“What was your best Quidditch moment?” she asked, handing the photo back to Harry. 

Harry grinned and put the photo back on the mantel. “Catching the Snitch to end the cup match in my third year against Slytherin House. The Slytherin Seeker and I were rivals, didn’t like each other, and it felt really good to snatch the Snitch from under his nose at ninety miles an hour.”

“And your worst?”

“Falling off my broom while flying high over the pitch… twice. One time was because I took a Bludger to the head in sixth year while trying to get my substitute Keeper to pay attention to his position and the other time, Dementors—they’re Dark creatures—swarmed the pitch. The other Seeker got the Snitch that day and I ended up in hospital.”

“If you fell off your broom, why aren’t you dead?” Ginny asked.

Harry harrumphed. “Magic. It’s at the heart of everything in the wizarding world.”

“Okay, I’ll buy that. So, what’s a Dementor?”

A big sigh escaped him before he could contain it. “A horrible creature that feeds off negative thoughts and feelings, making you think you’ll never feel happy again,” he said with a shudder. “I once heard someone liken them to the embodiment of depression.”

Ginny reached over and grasped his hand. “They sound awful. Is there a way to defend yourself against them?” 

Harry grinned. “It’s a spell called the Patronus Charm. The easiest way to describe the effect is to show you.” And before he thought any more about it, he’d called, “ _Expect Patronum!_ ” using his newest happy thought: his reunion with Ginny.

Prongs literally bounded from his wand, cantered around the room, then came to a stop before Ginny whose eyes were shining with wonder. The stag turned his head expectantly and when Harry’s message ended, it trotted out the window.

At that moment, Ginny finally found her voice. “Oh. My. God! Was that a ghost?”

Harry’s grin widened. “Nope. That was Prongs, the product of my happy thought. He’ll defend against Dementors and carry messages. I sent him with a message to Hermione. I’m expecting her answer very—” He didn’t finish because a small and frisky otter gambolled into the room.

The otter opened its mouth and out came Hermione’s voice. “I’ll be there at the usual time, Harry. I have some news of my own.” 

“They can speak? Wow!” Ginny gasped.

“They were dead useful during the war,” Harry told her quietly. “Several of them saved my skin.”

*****

Her work day had been jam-packed with meetings and paperwork. Her supervisor, Amos Diggory, had been rather ill-tempered all day because the centaurs living in the Forest of Dean were making demands again. To top it all off, someone was trying to undermine her efforts to undo all of Delores Umbridge’s werewolf regulations. All Hermione wanted to do was have a good soak in her clawfoot tub, then curl up with a good book… and it was only five o’clock!

Her plans changed when Harry’s Patronus came to a halt in front of her. “Come to Grimmauld Place for dinner. I’m cooking. I want you to meet someone.” 

She conjured her otter and sent it off with her message, then shrugged out of her work robes and set out a more comfortable outfit while filling her bath. She was glad she’d left work on time, because she now had the time to relax and ponder the idea of whether Harry wanted her to meet Ginny. She hoped she was right, mostly because she’d guessed that he was at least corresponding with her the last time they’d spoken; there had been something in his voice that told her he was happier than he’d been in a long time. Once she was ready, Hermione Apparated to the front step of Harry’s house and rang the doorbell. 

*****

Ginny’s head was reeling from all she had learned from Harry since the beginning of their lunch together. While she suspected that there was a magical world that existed right alongside her own reality, intermingled with it, really, learning about it from Harry was a little overwhelming. She understood why she had rejected the idea in January; she just hadn’t had the time to adjust to the idea and while she was sad that she had wasted so much time, she was also grateful to have been given the opportunity to work it out for herself. She just wished that Harry hadn’t had to put himself in a coma in order for her to fully accept what he was: an extraordinary man who had given of himself in order to preserve life for both their worlds.

With this thought, she asked Harry if she had time for a quick nap before Hermione arrived for dinner.

“I can’t keep my eyes open any longer,” she told him around a wide yawn. “Working the night shift makes days off difficult when the world is mostly diurnal.”

Harry smiled at her. “You can use my room or the guest room I finally furnished upstairs.”

“Which bed is closer?”

“Mine,” Harry answered, his smile turning into a grin. “Shall I wake you when Hermione gets here?”

Ginny rose and headed for the door. “Please,” she said.

A moment later she sat on Harry’s bed and kicked off her shoes. The room looked nearly as it had in her dreams, despite the fact that several items were not where she thought they’d be, mainly the Hogwarts banner and Harry’s broom. It really didn’t matter to her. They’d been good enough clues that she’d been able to work out that her dreams were telling her she needed to be with Harry.

And now she was…

*****

The doorbell ringing upstairs alerted Harry to Hermione’s arrival. This was only about the sixth time she’d used it since he’d moved in: caution wrought from long experience preventing her from arousing Mrs Black’s ire when entering the house, so she usually Apparated directly onto the front stairs and let herself in. He also thought his friend’s manners prevented her from just blatantly walking through the front door now that he wasn’t bedridden any more. He cancelled the spell on the knives he had set to chopping vegetables, wiped his hands on his apron and went to open the door.

“Hermione, come in, come in,” he greeted her.

She entered and immediately hugged him, then stepped back with a quizzical expression. “How come you’re so loud?” she asked. “I know you slashed that portrait, but it still mutters. Have you gone barmy?”

Harry chuckled and led her over to the stairs. “Like my handiwork?”

Hermione gaped, “Where is she? I thought she was a permanent fixture.”

“Plaster isn’t,” he told her smugly, “and Muggle tools are oh, so handy!”

Hermione laughed.

“Shall we go downstairs?” Harry asked, leading the way. “I need to finish dinner.”

“Who else is joining us for dinner?” Hermione asked when she saw the table set for three.

Harry grinned, and didn’t bother to keep the awe and happiness from his tone as he said, “Ginny’s here. I want you to meet her. She still loves me, Hermione!”

“Has she said so?”

“Erm, not directly, but I’m hoping she does,” he added hopefully. “She keeps dropping little clues, you know? I feel like I did last September when you and Poppy were quizzing me on why I was doing so much better. I… I just _know_.”

Hermione looked a bit sceptical. “I see. Where is she?”

“Upstairs, she’s up having a kip,” he explained. “She’s working night shifts at the hospital and apparently, she lays down in the afternoon so she’ll have the energy she needs for work, even on her days off.” He gave his stew a good stir and set a masher to squashing the potatoes he’d finished boiling. “I’m going to give her a few extra minutes before I go wake her.”

“Do we have time for my news, then?” Hermione asked.

“Of course, what’s going on?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” she told him with a sigh. “You know that werewolf legislation I’ve been trying to get rescinded? Well, I’ve been working for months to secure enough votes for the Wizengamot to pass it. The vote is supposed to be next week and now some upstart, pure-blooded bigot has convinced three of the members that they need to vote against the changes and keep the status quo!” She paced between the worktop and the table, looking like a caged tiger to Harry as she ranted. 

“And to top it all off, Mr Diggory wants to pull me off my campaign to help him negotiate with the Forest of Dean centaurs again! They’re complaining that the Muggles are ruining the area, intruding into places we negotiated as off-limits to Muggles because the protective spells haven’t been maintained. But that’s not my job, Harry! Why do I have to rescue everyone else’s causes when no one wants to help with mine? I was so frustrated by the end of the day, that I left all my parchments in my office and went home early!”

“So, Prongs didn’t arrive in the middle of a meeting, then?” Harry inquired, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. He knew better than to make light of his friend’s frustration. Instead, he added butter, milk and garlic to the potatoes, then gave the mixture a taste and with a satisfied murmur, cancelled the spell on the masher.

Hermione shook her head. “Not this time. I was already home, thank goodness.

“What do you think I should do? I’m a nervous wreck over the werewolves, I want the changes so badly. Even though Remus can’t benefit from them, there are others I’ve come to know whose lives would be so much better if they had the same rights we do.”

Harry thought a moment and then told her what he thought, all the while putting the finishing touches on his meal. It felt good to talk politics with his friend, just as it had felt good to reveal magic to Ginny earlier in the day. And while he knew none of what he said would truly help Hermione, he knew that just having someone to rant to was helping her. As their conversation wound down, he announced that dinner was imminent.

Hermione smiled. “Shall I open some wine?”

“Actually, I was going to introduce Ginny to Butterbeer,” he grinned. “That way I can have some.”

“Your potions?”

Harry growled. “Yeah, those. I’m still taking maintenance doses at night, though I hope not for much longer.”

He finished the mash with a bit more butter and moved it and the stew cauldron from the warming oven to the table. “Be right back,” he told Hermione. “If you’d get the salad from the cold cupboard, I’d appreciate it.”

Upstairs, he gently pushed open the door to his room and stood for a moment gazing at Ginny. She was just as gorgeous as she’d been the evening she’d rescued him. She’d worn her hair down today and it fanned across his pillow, framing her face with its auburn beauty. He was so happy that she was back in his life; even if they never became more than friends, he was grateful that Ginny had accepted him and didn’t think him a freak.

“Ginny,” he whispered as he approached the bed. “Ginny, wake up, luv. Dinner is ready.”

Ginny’s eyes fluttered open. “Thanks. I’m a little more awake now,” she said, sounding a bit befuddled. “Did your friend get here?”

“Hermione’s downstairs. Come and meet her.”

Still looking a bit sleepy, Ginny grabbed her shoes. “I need the loo. Back momentarily.”

She came back looking a little more awake and followed Harry down to the kitchen.

“Ginny, this is Hermione, Hermione, Ginny,” Harry announced as he entered the kitchen. He stepped back and watched his two favourite women size each other up.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” Hermione said, extending her hand.

“Likewise,” replied Ginny. They shook, each looking a bit uncomfortable.

_This is awkward_ , Harry thought as the three drifted over to the table where a bottle of butterbeer sat to the right of each plate.

“What’s this?” Ginny asked, picking up hers and taking a tentative swallow. “Oh, that’s good!”

Harry grinned. “It’s butterbeer, a wizarding beverage that goes with nearly everything.”

“I can see why,” Ginny added. “It goes quite well with your stew.”

They ate quietly for a few minutes and then Hermione asked about Ginny’s job and Harry was pleased to see his two friends were overcoming their awkwardness. He leaned back in his chair and just watched as the two most important women in his life went from acquaintances to the beginning of friendship. Ginny seemed fascinated with Hermione’s work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and asked some very astute questions that had Hermione smiling with her new friend’s interest. What was even better was Hermione’s knowledge and ability to put Ginny at ease because she was so familiar with the Muggle health system. When they ran out of job-related questions, they compared how they grew up and learned that the world of books was a common theme for each. Harry thought they’d have gone on all evening comparing authors and the books they’d read growing up if Whitehorn hadn’t flown through the window with a letter for Harry.

“Neville has this weekend off,” he announced, holding the letter up so Hermione and Ginny could see it. “He wants to meet us for lunch at the Leaky Cauldron on Saturday.”

“I think I know what this is about,” Hermione said, looking at Ginny. “We should all go.” She stood up and began clearing the table with a wave of her wand as she added, “I’m surprised Whitehorn could fly directly here. Doesn’t the Ministry still screen your mail?”

Harry said, “It does, but someone explained to me that any post sent with my own owl is probably safe for me to handle and doesn’t need to be screened. It’s a good thing, too, since Whitehorn here should be credited with getting Ginny and me back together.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up. “Oh, do tell,” she prompted as she pointed her wand at more dishes.

Ginny took the hint and grabbed the stack of plates out of the air as Harry told her about Whitehorn’s matchmaking. Hermione giggled and took a piece of meat over to the owl which had settled on the perch next to the fireplace.

“Can you come with me on Saturday, Ginny? I’d like you to meet Neville,” Harry asked her as she passed him with the plates.

“As long as I’m back home by five, I think I can get to work on time,” she replied. “Who is Neville?”

Harry and Hermione explained who he was as they drifted up to the library and what the Leaky Cauldron was. The conversation flowed back to magic and finally the war. To Harry, it suddenly wasn’t something he was reluctant to talk about; now that he could tell Ginny about it truthfully with Hermione’s support, it felt incredibly freeing to him as he told her the real version of his struggles, about the people they’d met and fought and how he had sustained and recovered from his various injuries. Through it all, he felt something inside himself building up and as he described his battle with Voldemort, an intense pain burst through his body, seeming to rip him in two.

“Harry!” both women cried as his body began writhing about on the sofa. 

He heard Ginny’s voice pleading, “Stay with me, Harry. Stay with me,” while Hermione instructed, “Let it go! He can’t hurt you! You beat him!”

There was a flash of light, an almighty yell, and as suddenly as the episode started, Harry sagged against the sofa, an exhausted grin on his face. He looked up at Ginny and Hermione. “I think it’s gone,” he told them in wonder. 

“What’s gone?” Ginny asked.

“The last of Voldemort’s curse,” Hermione and Harry said together. “We finally broke it completely and you helped.”

“I did?” she asked, sounding surprised. “How?”

“Love. It’s the strongest magic there is,” Harry told her, taking her hand.

It was another hour before he felt strong enough to walk around, and when he did, he felt incredibly whole again. This reassured Hermione who said she needed to go home and asked him if he’d accompany her to his fireplace. 

*****

A few minutes later, as she descended the stairs to go back to her flat, Ginny heard a voice calling to her from one of the portraits.

“Lily, are you calling me?” she asked, stopping in front of James and Lily’s portrait. Lily sat alone in the garden scene as if she’d been waiting for something.

“Yes, dear. I’ve sent James off to one of his other portraits,” Lily informed her, smiling, “so it’s just us for the moment.” She paused for a few seconds and then added, “Ginny, I want you to know that I’m so very happy that you have come back to the house. You are the ray of sunshine that Harry has needed to help him see the good in life. He won’t say it, the stubborn boy, but he loves you with his whole being and having you come back into his life has made this house a happy place again. Thank you.”

Ginny leaned against the wall of the stairwell. “Mrs Potter, I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything, dear, because I can see in your eyes that you love Harry just as much as he loves you. Your time apart has proven it. I’ll see you again soon, I hope,” Lily said.

Ginny nodded, a lump settling in her throat that made it impossible to speak. Lily waved good-bye just as Harry appeared from the kitchen stairs, having seen Hermione to the Floo. 

“Shall I walk you home?” he asked.

Ginny held out her hand. “I’d like that very much,” she said as Harry pulled her into a hug.

The walk was short, but their parting kiss on her doorstep was long and lingering and as she shut the door after watching Harry disappear around the corner, she marvelled at how complete she felt again. Being with Harry again was just like coming home.


	19. Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Neville play tourist, Ginny meets Neville, Ron discovers something amazing, and Arthur greets Harry and Ginny.

**Summary:** Our story is nearly at an end, just one mor chapter after this one. As I begin wrapping up all the various story lines and tying all the loose ends into neat little bows, I want to thank Kezzabear for reminding me that Hermione and Neville’s story line wasn’t quite finished. Therefore, I added a short section for each of them that leads into what happens in the final chapter. We also get to see some of Ron and Arthur in this chapter. I hope you like the chapter and find it in your hearts to share your thoughts in the reviews.

As always, I appreciate the efforts of Melindaleo, Mutt N Feathers, Brennus, and Cackling Stump for finding misplaced commas, weird sentences, and ideas that need more explanation. You’re awesome!

**Chapter Nineteen**

A very special piece of mail was in his inbox when Ron returned to his desk after lunch on Friday. His hands shook as he opened the envelope containing his payslip from his first two weeks of work at his new job. While he had signed all the papers to have his salary automatically deposited in his bank account, it still was a thrill to see the money had magically appeared there when this piece of paper appeared on his desk. He scanned it thoroughly to make sure all his deductions were correct, especially the amount he owed for his student loans. He frowned. Everything seemed right except for that number. It was half the amount it should be and there was no way he had paid back that much as an unemployed worker in the last two months. Something was up.

He left his desk and went to the personnel office and asked to speak with someone who dealt with the student loans.

“Mr Weasley, the amount is correct,” the woman told him emphatically as she stared at her computer screen. “I see that between you leaving your last job and coming to this one you paid down the debt by half.”

“I did no such thing,” Ron sputtered. “Who do I call to find out why this is happening?”

The woman gave him a phone number to call and Ron went back to his cubical still frustrated, but determined to get to the bottom of the matter.

Two hours later, he set the handset of his desk phone back on its cradle. The woman with whom he’d spoken had assured him that the amount was right, that someone had generously paid the enormous sum that had halved the amount Ron owed. When he had protested, the woman on the other end of the line had asked why he was rejecting such a gift. Looking at it that way, Ron finally thanked her, thinking that he really didn’t deserve something like this, but didn’t want to question the person’s motive or feel indebted to the person who had paid down the loan. 

Maybe he’d bring up the subject at the next family dinner. His brothers had been harping the last time he’d attended one that someone was making donations to their favourite charities. (Charlie, in particular, had been mystified because the donation to the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds had specified his sanctuary and had voiced his hope that his benefactor would choose another sanctuary the next time he or she donated.) He hoped they would know who was giving away so much money.

In the meantime, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

*****

Neville pulled on Hermione’s hand, leading her to another bed of pharmaceutical plants. The two were spending the morning at the Chelsea Physic Garden and then, at Hermione’s insistence, were going to see a new exhibit she wanted to see at the Tate Modern after lunch. They had decided to play tourist and cram two attractions into one day. However, he sensed that their plan just wasn’t working, mostly because Hermione just wasn’t interested in searching for magical plants amongst the Muggle species. She’d smiled when they’d discovered a variety of miniature honking daffodils that peeped like goslings whenever someone was near and it had amused her that the other tourists started looking for a family of geese. Otherwise, she was just following along behind him. He had hoped the beauty of the gardens would keep her interested while he was absorbed in the plants.

Neville’s purpose for visiting the garden was a dual one. He had needed to visit the Education Department’s Magical Education Office to order seed for the next school year and with that done, he’d wanted to walk through the Poisons Garden to see if there were any plants the sixth- and seventh-years needed to learn about in conjunction with their studies in Potions. Every time he came here he learned something he could use in his lessons or share with the Potions Mistress. Today, he’d learned about a couple of obscure Muggle plants in the pharmaceutical plant garden that he was sure would be of interest to those NEWT-level students who planned to become Healers or Potions Masters.

Now, as he and Hermione stood staring at one of those plants and admired its delicate pink flowers, he felt invigorated by the plant’s beauty and the beautiful witch standing next to him with an unfortunately bored expression on her face.

“Are we about done?” Hermione asked, sounding a bit impatient.

Neville smiled at her. “Yes, we are. Shall we meander towards the entrance or have lunch here at the café?” he asked her as he tried to ignore her impatience.

Hermione visibly perked up at the mention of lunch. “There’s a little bistro near the front entrance that should have a better variety of offerings than the café,” she said. “Would you like to have lunch there?”

Neville shrugged. “That sounds good to me,” he agreed and the two wended their way through the walled garden to the entrance. 

After lunch, they took the Underground to the Tate Modern. Hermione, who had been gradually becoming more animated while they had lunch, was now very excited as they paid the entrance fee and entered the art gallery. Neville was now the one to follow his companion doggedly through the rooms as she made a bee line for the exhibit she wanted to see. It turned out to be a ginormous mobile that hung from the ceiling and moved gently in the air currents, reminding Neville of certain tropical magical plants. He peered at the pendants carefully, trying to decide what they were made from. 

“What do you think, Neville,” Hermione asked. “Aren’t you in awe of what the artist is expressing through bits of metal trash?”

“How’s it all sticking together? Permanent Sticking Charms?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t sounding as stupid as he thought.

Apparently, he was, for Hermione fairly hissed, “Watch out how loudly you say things like that! This room echoes badly. People will hear and think you daft!” Then, in a softer tone, she explained, “The non-magical artist soldered every piece of aluminium and tin together to form the pendants. It’s like gluing the pieces together with a small, hot iron and more scrap metal.” She stepped away a few paces and stopped to contemplate the huge monstrosity for a few seconds. This allowed Neville to form his own thoughts about his “interpretation” of the piece.

“Do you think the artist was expressing his disgust with how much trash is made on a daily basis?” he asked, hoping this thought would interest Hermione.

She smiled at him. “You know,” she said, “I believe you’re right. He’s used colours such as olive green and dark brown and burnt orange accents in the paint scheme that might represent decomposition. Let’s consult the pamphlet we were given at the entrance. We might both be right.”

They spent the next few minutes talking about shape and colour and why the artist had selected the pieces of trash that were used in the mobile. After a while, Neville began feeling sleepy from the piece’s motion and went to find a bench. As soon as his back touched the wall his eyes unfocused and the room became blurry with a shifting picture of a large trash dump in the centre of his vision.

Hermione’s hand gently shaking his shoulder aroused him from his stupor. “Are you all right?” she inquired. 

Neville smiled up at her. “The mobile is positively hypnotizing. I thought I saw a trash dump while staring at it. Shall we go look at something else?” he asked as he surreptitiously glanced at his watch: they’d been in the mobile room for nearly an hour.

“Yes, let’s. I quite agree it’s mesmerizing.” She opened the pamphlet again and pointed to a gallery on the other side of the building. “Shall we go look at the sculptures?”

Neville was grateful for the long hike to the sculpture gallery. By the time they reached their destination, his head had cleared enough that he could think clearly about what the mobile had shown him.

Later that night, after seeing Hermione home, Neville wandered out to his greenhouse and stood just inside the door admiring the order and beauty of his plants. While he had appreciated the stillness of the items he’d seen at the art gallery, the quiet busyness of his plants, like those he’d seen that morning, soothed him in a way nothing else could. It made him wonder if he could ever appreciate inanimate objects like paper or metal that never changed by themselves the way plants did. He knew Hermione did because pieces of art required deep thinking to mean something to her. Plants weren’t like that at all. A plant could look static, but if you really took the time to observe them, even Muggle plants moved and changed: they reacted to light and air currents, they constantly stretched their roots looking for water, and they went through their life cycles slowly and steadily without any help from people. Once a piece of art was finished, it remained exactly the same until someone or something changed it.

Neville smiled and went over to the sofa where he’d kissed Hermione that one evening. He sat down and stretched his legs in front of him as his thoughts wandered to another witch who very much liked wandering through gardens with him. He wondered if it was her night off and what she was doing with it. He very much wanted to tell her about the new South American fiddling fern he’d seen in the Fernery this morning and what he’d learned about the poisonous plants of Australia that would fascinate the seventh-year Herbology students. He suddenly realized that while he had shared his day with Hermione, he really had wanted her to be the other witch. With a jolt, he wondered what that meant to his relationship with Hermione.

*****

Hermione took her after dinner tea to her study. Her desk was covered in orderly stacks of parchments whose words would change how the Wizarding world acted if the laws that were written on them were passed. She was proud of those words just as she had been elated to study the pieces of art at the Tate Modern. Those pieces represented the brain power of those who had created them. What they didn’t do was actively interact with people and the elements like plants did, and for some reason, she liked the art better than the plants.

A sudden thought hit her. What did this say for her relationship with Neville? He clearly loved the quiet of the plants they’d seen, even the ones that dripped poison down their stems, but not the pieces of art they’d seen after lunch. She could tell that the mobile had bored him and it saddened her to acknowledge this, mostly because he’d tried to keep that to himself. She supposed that they were two different people, even though they had been brought together by a common concern: Harry. Neville had been exactly what she needed on those lonely nights at Harry’s bedside and she now wondered if she’d read more into his visits than she should have. Were they just so different that now that Harry was thriving because of Ginny’s love she and Neville would have to work even harder on their own relationship if they wanted to make it work?

Her thoughts drifted to a long-ago conversation she’d had with her mother concerning relationships and choosing a life partner. At one point, her mum had said, “Hermione, I have a feeling you’re going to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your handsome prince.”

Hermione had raised an eyebrow and asked, “Do you mean that I’m going to have many boyfriends before I find the man I want to marry?”

Her mum had nodded. “Yes, dear, that’s exactly what I mean. And when you find him, you’ll know almost from the beginning that he’s your handsome prince. Just ask your father: I think he was frog number seven for me.”

The two had giggled and gone in search of Hermione’s father.

Now, Hermione sighed and picked up her Biro and rummaged in a drawer for a small, thin book, and turned to the first page. On it was a list of names under the heading “Frogs?” and realized that she wasn’t ready to add Neville’s name to the list. Satisfied for the moment, she put the book back and picked up her tea mug and one of the parchments. She had a lot of work to do before Monday.

*****

Ginny was nervous. Normally, when she was going to meet someone new, she looked forward to the introduction and to getting to know the person, like she had Hermione. However, this was different. Not only was she going to meet one of Harry’s long-time friends, she was also going to venture into the Wizarding world for the very first time and although he had given her many reassurances, the newness of his world made her wonder if she was ready to face an alternative, parallel reality.

Harry showed up punctually and asked her if she preferred to drive or take the Underground. As they were going to Charing Cross Road, she opted for the familiar—even though she wanted to ride in Harry’s new car—so they took the Tube, then walked to their destination, having left Ginny’s mobile at her flat. Even though it felt strange not to have it with her, she knew that where she was going would just render the little machine useless within a matter of minutes. Harry seemed to understand this and told her about his first introduction to the wizarding world as they rode along, probably thinking the story would ease her nervousness. 

“What was it like to experience it for the first time?” she asked.

“The only word for it is _magical_ ,” he told her. “It completely changed how I looked at the world, explained why I could do all the weird stuff my aunt, uncle and cousin thought was abnormal, and thrust me into growing up a little quicker than the average eleven-year-old.”

“Do you think seeing the magical world for the first time as an adult will be different?” she asked.

“It might, but only because you’ve had so many more years in your own reality that you can compare it to. I hope you find it as fascinating as I did the first time,” Harry said as they exited the train and started up towards the surface.

To say that she was now familiar with the feeling of wanting to be somewhere else or not seeing something she was meant to was not a complete truth, it helped her when Harry tugged at her hand and had her focus on the pub door she was meant to see. A few seconds later, they walked into a room that looked as if nobody had bothered remodelling it for several centuries. She’d just adjusted to the dim lighting when they heard a voice hail them from the other side of the room.

“Harry! Over here!”

“That’s Neville,” Harry explained as he steered her towards a corner booth. “Oh, and Hermione’s already here.”

Ginny focused on their destination and saw that the other woman, er, witch, was seated close to Neville, a glass of something amber and fizzy in front of her. As Harry and Ginny approached, the two rose from their seats and Harry made his introductions.

“Ginny, this is Neville Longbottom, Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Neville, this is Ginny Weasley, nurse extraordinaire and my girlfriend,” Harry said smiling.

“Pleased to meet you,” Ginny and Neville said together and the four of them laughed.

As the four sat down, Neville flicked his wand, muting the sounds of the pub. Ginny looked sharply at him, wondering if he’d done the same thing Harry had the other day at the Italian restaurant.

Harry leaned over towards her. “It’s just a privacy charm. It allows us to be in public without being bothered,” he explained. “Neville played a significant part in the last six months of the war and people recognize him as much as they do me and Hermione. The war hasn’t been over long enough that people will leave us be. At least with the charm we can get together and share a pint with lunch without too much bother.”

Ginny pondered this, then asked, “You’ll tell me more about the war someday?”

Harry smiled tightly. “There’s a lot to tell, but I’ll do my best to answer your questions.” He paused and then asked, “Would you like to try a wizarding beverage or stick with something more Muggle?”

“Wizard. What’s good?”

“You’ve had butterbeer, but there’s cider, beer and firewhisky. Any of that catch your fancy?”

“If we’re eating here, I’ll have a butterbeer.”

“Wise choice,” he said, then turned to Neville and Hermione. “Want a refill?”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m ready to eat, though. You?”

The others agreed and Harry flagged down the waitress, whose name was Hannah, who told them the specials. Ginny chose the Cornish pasty while Harry ordered Irish stew along with butterbeers for them both. Neville and Hermione settled on chicken dishes. While they waited for their food, Ginny finally focused on her surroundings. It was as if they had slipped back in time four hundred or so years. While the pub was clean and tidy, it looked as if the décor hadn’t been changed since Tudor times and at a further glance, neither did the patrons. In her modern Muggle clothes, she felt quite out of place surrounded by people wearing long, flowing garments and pointed hats.

“It takes some getting used to, doesn’t it?” Hermione asked, getting Ginny’s attention.

“Is it always this quaint or is this place just atmosphere?” Ginny wanted to know.

“Depends on where you are,” Hermione explained. “London is our government centre just as it is in the Muggle world. Wizards tend to be a bit adverse to change, so their dress, attitudes and laws tend to be behind the Muggle world, mostly because wizards are rather wary of Muggles wanting things instantly if they knew about magic. They also haven’t bothered to really learn much about the Muggle world, so half of their assumptions are just plain wrong! Anyway, if you leave London and travel anywhere in the UK, you’ll run into wizarding areas where the people dress just as modern as you and whose attitudes are more contemporary. Where are you from?”

“Near Exeter in Devon,” Ginny answered. “Are there wizarding families living in the area?”

“I think there are a few near Ottery St Mary,” Hermione answered. “Is that near you?”

“It’s near my parents’ farm where I grew up. Would we have had contact with the families?”

“Possibly, depending if they shopped in the village or not. If they did, they probably would have looked a little strange because wizards have a hard time choosing the proper Muggle attire sometimes,” Hermione confided. “Harry and I once attended a Quidditch World Cup game involving spectators from all over the world and it was just as much fun watching the people trying to dress inconspicuously as it was the match. When we went to get water from a spigot, for example, we encountered an elderly wizard clad in a woman’s nightdress in the middle of the day. He claimed he’d purchased the garment because he didn’t want to wear trousers.”

This image made Ginny giggle. “I think I encountered a family of wizards once when I was about ten. My older brother knocked me upside the head and told me to stop staring at the strangely dressed people, that they were most likely foreigners.”

“That sounds familiar,” Hermione agreed.

Their food arrived and the four began eating. When they were nearly done, Harry asked, “Hemione, what happened with the werewolf vote?”

“Oh! It passed!” she exclaimed happily. “I shouldn’t have worried. It’s going to take a fair amount of work, especially to get the Wolfsbane Potion clinics set up, but it’s now illegal to deny a werewolf access to the potion, to equal pay and jobs, and they will no longer be classified as beasts. Any newly turned person now has the right to keep his or her employment and no longer has to register with Magical Creatures. Instead, a support group has been set up to help them manage their condition.”

Neville put down his fork and hugged her. “That’s brilliant!” he exclaimed, planting a kiss on her cheek.

Ginny glanced at Harry whose expression was sad and thoughtful at the same time. “Congratulations, Hermione,” he said, sounding genuinely happy for her. “Will the children of werewolves get compensation like you wanted?”

Hermione nodded. “Not as much as I’d hoped, but the Wizengamot has set aside funds to help children like Teddy with their educations.”

Harry looked pleased. “It’s a start, right?” he asked.

“It is, and I shouldn’t have worried about the person who was trying to sabotage the vote,” Hermione admitted again.

Neville was next to announce his news, the reason for asking them to lunch.

“This has been great,” he said earnestly as Hannah came to clear the table and refill their beverages. “I didn’t know who I wanted to celebrate with and then it came to me that you lot are my family now. Mum and Dad barely recognize me since I hardly get the time to visit them and I don’t think they’d understand what I was telling them if I did.” He paused, looking around the table. Ginny didn’t really understand what was going on either, but listened raptly nevertheless. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you that St Mungo’s has agreed to start trials with the Stink Sap potion I developed to counteract the effects of Spattergroit. The head of Magical Bugs thinks it’s more effective than the original, long-used cure of standing in a barrel of eel’s eyes during the full moon.”

At this, Ginny couldn’t keep her opinion to herself. “I’m sorry, Neville, but did you say someone has to stand in a barrel of _eel’s eyes_?” she asked incredulously. “That’s positively medieval! It wouldn’t cure anything!”

Neville grinned. “I agree,” he said with a laugh. “Plants and their derivatives have so much more potential. That’s why I worked so hard on creating the potion. Depending on the form of the disease, Healer Faulkner wants to use it as a topical balm to dry up the pustules or counteract the confusion and memory loss. Either way, victims of the disease have a better chance of living a normal life if they are given my potion.”

“Do you get compensation for your work?” Hermione asked. “And what about patents? Can anyone take credit for the potion you developed?”

Neville reached for her hand. “Thanks for looking out for me, Hermione,” he began. “When it looked like St Mungo’s wanted to use the potion, I contacted my solicitor who worked out a contract with the hospital and is making sure I retain full rights to the potion recipe. In the meantime, I’m still happily employed at Hogwarts for another year.”

Hermione’s expression softened and she squeezed Neville’s hand. “I’m so happy for you,” she said earnestly. “I was just concerned that someone would swindle you out of what you deserve.”

Harry leaned over towards Ginny. “Do you need any questions answered?” he asked quietly.

Ginny shook her head. “If I followed the conversation correctly, Neville has been working on a medicine that comes from a plant he grows. It sounds like his hobby is using magical plants to benefit others.”

“That’s just about the gist of it,” Harry smiled. “I’m glad he wanted to share his news with us. His childhood was just about as fraught as mine was. He’s been a good friend since we were eleven and I thank the powers that be that he’s been my friend since I entered the wizarding world.” He raised his glass and looked around the table. “To Neville!” he proclaimed. 

The others raised their glasses and drank to their friend’s success after which the conversation turned to more mundane topics.

“I have news of my own,” Harry said suddenly, making Ginny, Neville and Hermione look at him expectantly. “I saw Madam Pomfrey yesterday.”

“And…” Ginny prompted.

Harry grinned. “I’m officially off the maintenance potions and she’s declared me free of the effects from Voldemort’s spell.”

Ginny watched in amusement as Hermione sprang up from her seat and nearly collided with Harry across the table in her effort to hug him. “Oh, Harry! That’s _wonderful!_ ” she cried. 

“Congratulations, mate!” Neville beamed. He looked across the table at Ginny. “You okay?” he asked.

As Harry extracted himself from Hermione’s grasp, Ginny fished in her handbag for her handkerchief, then dabbed at her eyes. “That’s such good news,” she finally whispered. “Definitely something to celebrate.” Then, she threw herself at him and kissed him thoroughly right there in the pub. Harry, it seemed, had been waiting for her reaction and eagerly returned her kiss. When they finally came up for air, it was to find Neville and Hermione sharing an equally exuberant kiss.

Harry cleared his throat. “Ginny, I wasn’t going to do this until I was absolutely sure that we were back together, but I now see that the only question left is this one,” he said, scooting out of the booth and fiddling with something in his pocket. “Ginny Weasley, will you marry me, knowing full well that our worlds are rather different, but equally intertwined? I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

As he opened the small box, Ginny felt her eyes widen. “You found it? Oh, Harry! Yes! My answer is yes!”

And then the ring was on her finger and she and Harry were engulfed in a huge bear hug by both Hermione and Neville.

*****

Harry and Ginny stood in the alcove behind the Leaky Cauldron, facing the brick wall behind the dust bins. They’d just said good bye to Neville and Hermione and as they were here, Harry thought it might be prudent to show his fiancée a little more of the world she was committing herself to become a part of.

“Are you ready?” he asked her.

“What are you going to show me?”

“A part of who I am and what I fought for.”

An uncertain smile spread across her face. She swallowed nervously as Harry tapped the bricks with his wand and waited for the arch to form.

He watched Ginny’s face… She smiled a little broader as she received her first glimpse of the British shopping district.

“It’s like going back in time,” she breathed.

“I thought the same thing when I was eleven,” Harry said. “I have an errand that I’d like to do, then we can explore all you like until we need to get you back home.”

“All right, lead the way.”

Harry took her hand and they strolled slowly down the street, pausing at shop windows and admiring the magical things within. When they reached Gringotts Wizarding Bank, he stopped and turned towards her.

“Ginny, this is where I bank. It is run by a very special people known as goblins,” he said. “They are as magical as wizards; some say even more so. My intention is now that we are engaged, that you know not only who I am, but where I stand in wizarding society. I’m not saying this to frighten you, I just want you to understand why I haven’t sought employment in the last few weeks. No more secrets.”

“All right,” she said, and took a hesitant step towards the bank.

Harry led her through the double doors into the bank and stopped to let her have a look around while he approached one of the account managers. They spoke for several minutes, then Harry called her to him. The goblin produced a sheaf of parchment and pointed to several places where Harry and Ginny’s signatures were required. Finally, they followed the goblin down to the carts.

“Harry, this is the strangest bank I’ve ever been in,” Ginny exclaimed as they hurtled downwards. She squealed as they took a curve at speed. “I _love_ this! Wheeeee!”

All too soon, they stopped before Harry’s vault. The goblin driving the cart climbed out and opened the vault door. “Just the account holder,” he instructed.

“Even with the account holder’s permission?” Harry asked. “This woman is my fiancée and she needs to know what I am worth. I just signed the parchments five minutes ago.”

The driver eyed him suspiciously, then returned to the cart where he pushed a button. He spoke with someone for a few moments, seeming to become more annoyed by the minute. Eventually, he returned to Harry and Ginny.

“Before she enters the vault, she must sign two more parchments, Mr Potter. Your parchments are not complete without them,” he said scowling. 

“What’s wrong?” Ginny asked when Harry beckoned her over to the door.

“Red tape,” he said grimly. “Until you sign _all_ the paperwork stating your intention to marry me, you won’t be able to enter my vault.”

Ginny looked down at the goblin. “What do I need to sign?” she asked.

“My idiot colleague upstairs did not think two parchments were necessary because you are a Muggle intending to marry a wizard,” the driver told her as another goblin came barreling down the track in another cart. The second goblin hopped out of the vehicle and handed the parchments to the driver.

The driver approached Ginny and handed her a quill. “Sign here, please,” he said tersely. He pointed out where her signature and initials were required.

As she handed back the quill, she asked, “What language are the papers written in and is there a way to verify that only the account holders will be allowed access to the vault?

“The language is the legal language of Gringotts Bank, miss: Gobbledygook, the language of goblins,” their driver told them. “You can be sure that security is the highest available to our customers.”

“Do you trust them?” Ginny asked Harry. “I could have signed away your fortune without knowing what those papers said.”

He smiled. “I trust them and so does most of wizarding Britain. There was only one break-in—that failed—and that was fifteen years ago at the start of the second wizarding war. Since then, no one has tried to access another’s vault under false pretences.”

“That seems all right with me,” she said decidedly. “Now what were you going to show me?”

Harry took her hand and pulled her after him into his vault. Even though he had been here a month ago to arrange for various transactions, he still marvelled at the sheer vastness of the room. It had to do with the fact that not only had he inherited the Potter family fortune, but the Black Family holdings had been added to his when Sirius died back in ninety-six. It still felt strange to Harry to walk past the piles of coins, boxes of legal papers, suits of armour, and mounds of gold and silver treasures. Harry had been told that most of the treasure was from the Black vault because the family was older than the Potters and the Blacks had had a habit of seeking retribution in the form of objects rather than simple apologies.

“This is what I wanted to show you,” Harry whispered to Ginny. “I think you’ll recognize the piles of coins as wizarding currency. I’ll tell you more about it later.”

“How do you pay for things with this?” Ginny asked. “Banking in my world is done electronically these days. Do you have cash machines that dispense gold coins?”

Trying hard to hide his smile, Harry explained about the credit card and cheque book he used when in the Muggle world. “I still carry around a money bag,” he told her, fishing into his pocket and taking out the one he carried on his person every time he left the house. “It’s not much different than carrying a wallet with paper bank notes in it.”

“I suppose not,” Ginny said thoughtfully. “So why is all of this other stuff here?”

Harry grinned. “Wizards are notorious pack rats, Ginny. They acquire all sorts of stuff that they can’t possibly display in their homes, so they store it here at the bank. It’s almost like the storage units Muggles pay for when they need to keep their excess stuff safe and not in their attics or cellars. It’s also very secure due to the goblins’ pride in keeping what has been entrusted to them safe. Does that make sense?” he asked.

“It does, and I can see that your family has acquired a _lot_ of treasure over the years,” she said, smiling. “I suppose that if you really didn’t want to work, you would be set for a life of leisure.”

“I could,” he hedged, “but laying around this last year with only so much to do has showed me that I like being a man of action. There are jobs in the wizarding world that could use someone like me who is attached to a wonderful someone like you and I think if we put our heads together, we could do a lot of good in this world.”

“Are you saying that if I choose, I can keep working?” Ginny asked. Harry nodded. “Because if that’s true, I know of places here in Britain that need people like us to make their lives better.”

Harry grinned at her. “I like the way you think, Ginny. Shall we have a proper conversation about this sometime soon?”

“Yes, when I’m not quite so overwhelmed,” she said, smiling.

“I agree. Now, let me grab some money and we can be on our way. We have a lot of shops to explore!”

*****

Harry made sure that Ginny was back at her flat by five o’clock, the time she needed to be there in order to dress for work and get there on time. He made her laugh when he consulted his watch and declared that they had thirty seconds to snog before he needed to leave. 

“When can I see you again?” he asked as he backed out the door.

“Tuesday? That’s my day off,” she said.

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll send Whitehorn with a note sometime on Monday,” he said, and snuck in another quick kiss as he pulled the door closed on himself.

It was then that Ginny thought about calling her family. She knew they would want to know about the resumption of her engagement to Harry. However, on second thought, she wanted to keep her ring to herself for a few days. Maybe she should put in for a couple of days off… she had a lot to think about and she felt that if she organized her feelings and facts, maybe her family would not give her as much grief as they usually did about such things. She knew her parents would accept the situation if they understood why she had changed her mind. She just hoped her brothers wouldn’t try to intimidate Harry _too_ much.

With a satisfied smile on her face, Ginny readied herself for work and headed out the door.

*****

Something told Molly Weasley that it was time to talk to her daughter. She knew Ginny was working nights and sleeping most of the day away. However, that didn’t prevent her from leaving a voice mail asking Ginny to contact her.

Ginny called back on Monday, shortly before tea time. “I only have a few minutes before I have to leave for work, but I thought I’d return your call,” she said, sounding like she had just awakened.

“I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you, dear,” Molly said. “It’s been so long since we last saw you. I know you’re working nights, but a mother still worries about her children.”

There was a pause on Ginny’s end, then her daughter said, “Could I come down tomorrow? It’s my day off and I’d like to spend the day at the farm.”

“You know you’re always welcome. Will you be taking the train or driving?” Molly asked.

“Driving,” Ginny answered. “I’ll leave early and get there before noon. Now, I need to go so I won’t be late for work. See you tomorrow.”

They hung up and Molly had the impression that Ginny wasn’t telling her something.

*****

Harry’s owl showed up just as Ginny finished talking to her mother. She smiled as Whitehorn tapped on the window wanting to be let in.

“What do you have for me, you handsome thing?” she asked as she took the rolled-up piece of parchment from his leg.

If owls could shrug their shoulders, Ginny thought he would have. She giggled at the thought as she read Harry’s note. He wanted to know what her plans were for the week, so she grabbed a pen and added her reply to the bottom, telling him she wanted to go home on Tuesday and would he like to accompany her. Whitehorn eagerly bobbed up and down when she finished writing, seeming quite happy to play messenger between her and Harry. As soon as she opened the door, the owl zoomed in the direction of Harry’s house, only to return ten minutes later with Harry’s enthusiastic reply that he definitely wanted to join her and would she like him to drive. Smiling happily, she sent Whitehorn back with the time she wanted Harry to show up the next day, with the suggestion that Harry pack an overnight bag just in case they stayed longer than anticipated. While she did indeed have the day off, the prospect of driving down to Devon alone was daunting on the prospect of no sleep. If Harry drove, maybe she could nap once they hit the motorway. She was glad she had asked for Wednesday off.

*****

Harry was early. He knew he was, but he was just so excited to be able to spend a weekday with Ginny that he hadn’t slept much and had drunk too much coffee and eaten too little breakfast to stave off the caffeine rush. He pulled into her drive and parked his car behind hers, then opened the hatch and pushed his broom farther back into the cargo compartment in anticipation of putting Ginny’s bag in with his. Then, he went to her door and pressed the bell.

“Good morning, Harry,” she greeted him. “I’ll be right out. I just have to put a few things in my bag and then I’ll be ready.”

“How was work?” he asked her retreating back.

“About normal. You know, the usual rounds of meds, calming a few jittery newcomers. Thank goodness we got rid of the surly teenage crash patient a month ago. I was tired of minding him every Saturday, even though it had been several weeks since he tried to escape and ended up passing out somewhere,” she threw over her shoulder as she entered her room.

She reappeared several minutes later lugging a small suitcase and her handbag. “All ready,” she chirped, and handed the bag to Harry, who stowed it under his broomstick.

Harry drove silently as he followed the sat nav directions out of London. Only when he was on the motorway did he venture to make small talk. “Erm, Ginny, I need to tell you something.”

“What is it, Harry?”

“I’ve become a philanthropist,” he said by way of explanation, “and I started giving away my money because I thought you’d understand.”

“Understand what?” she asked curiously.

Harry hesitated, then said quietly, “That I did it for you.”

Ginny frowned. “Why me?”

“Because I thought that giving away my money to help others would show you that I value the things your family values.” He paused, then added, “And because I thought you might want me back when you knew about it.”

Ginny sighed and looked out the window. “Thank you for telling me, Harry. That means a lot. Will you continue to help people after we’re married?”

He took his eyes off the road and looked at Ginny’s profile. “Yes. It makes me feel useful.”

Ginny looked back at him and patted his leg. “I’m glad.

“Did you bring your Firebolt?” she asked suddenly.

Harry grinned. “Do you want a ride tonight?”

Ginny grinned back. “Do I have to wait that long?”

*****

Arthur Weasley entered his office and wearily kicked off his boots. His morning chores were done and he thought he had a few minutes to himself. He had his accounts to work on, but at the moment, he didn’t feel like doing them, mostly because his wife was all a-dither because their daughter was coming home to visit… in the middle of the week. She seemed to think that Ginny had some news she wanted to share that couldn’t wait. He pulled a farming magazine out of the pile on his desk and began reading at random. Waiting for something to happen was hard work.

The back door opened downstairs and Arthur heard Molly squeal their daughter’s name, followed by her startled exclamation of, “Harry?”

Arthur thrust his feet in to a pair of slippers and took the stairs two at a time. He was just in time to hear Ginny ask, “Is Dad upstairs? We need to talk to him.”

Arthur retreated to his office, sat back down, and picked up his magazine again.

*****

Ginny tugged on Harry’s hand, urging him towards the stairs. “Dad’s office is in Ron’s old room. You slept there the last time we were here together.” When he hesitated, she smiled encouragingly and glanced up the staircase. “Go on, I’m sure he’s heard us.”

Frowning, Harry asked, “Why do I have to go first?”

Ginny chuckled. “He’s not going to bite and I think you know why you need to talk to him first. If it’s any consolation, I’ll be in my bedroom.”

With a resigned expression, Harry marched up the stairs muttering, “Thanks.” In truth, he did know that in order for things to be right with the world, he _did_ need to explain a few things… he just didn’t want to do it alone.

Harry knocked lightly on the door and it swung open to reveal Arthur reading a magazine. Arthur looked up and Harry felt like he was being scrutinized.

“Can I come in?” Harry asked hesitantly.

Arthur closed his magazine and put it on his desk. “Harry, I wasn’t expecting you. What brings you here?”

“Actually, sir, I need to talk to you, explain a few things,” Harry stated.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Do these things concern my daughter?”

“They do,” Harry assured him. “We’ve gotten back together and re-established our engagement.”

“I see.” Arthur looked thoughtful. “And why would Ginny want you back when you obviously hurt her?”

Harry inhaled deeply through his nose. “The long and the short of it is that I love your daughter, even more than when we spoke the last time I asked for your permission to ask her to marry me,” Harry said with more confidence than he actually felt. “But I wasn’t being entirely honest with her or you at that time, which is why she broke up with me. I want to correct that and stop keeping secrets from you and your family. Ginny knows the truth now, and I want to share it with you also.”

Arthur suddenly looked angry. “What secrets?” he asked suspiciously.

“I know this is going to sound crazy, but,” he paused before continuing, “I’m a wizard.”

“A wizard,” Arthur repeated, sounding rather sceptical. “Like Merlin or Gandalf?”

Harry studied the throw rug, his head bent because he was trying very hard not to laugh because he knew Arthur was speaking about the wizards he was familiar with. Thank goodness he’d become familiar with Gandalf from the books Hermione had brought him while he was in hospital. Finally mastering himself, he said, “Well, sort of. Merlin was a real wizard, but he is considered to be one of the most powerful wizards in history, so I wouldn’t want to compare myself to him. I can do magic spells like he did, though. Gandalf, on the other hand, is fictional.” 

Arthur was silent at this revelation as if trying to decide whether or not to believe Harry. “Assuming that magic is real and you actually are a wizard, why did you keep it a secret from Ginny? Is being a wizard a bad thing?” he finally asked.

“It really isn’t, except for the fact that the wizarding world is meant to be kept secret from non-magical people,” he explained. “I didn’t want Ginny to enter our marriage not knowing what sort of world she was getting herself into, so I told her, showed her some basic things about my world and explained about some of the things she’d noticed around my house. She became angry when I wouldn’t do magic in front of her because I’d been forbidden to do it by my healers. We fought and, when she threw her ring at me, I did what I thought was right. I performed a spell that altered her memories so that she wouldn’t remember the real reason we broke up.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you bewitched my daughter?” Arthur asked, sounding incredulous and very angry at the same time.

“Yes, and I wish I hadn’t,” Harry replied sincerely.

“Why are you telling me this now? Haven’t you done enough damage?” Arthur demanded.

“I deserve that,” Harry said, once again contemplating the pattern on rug beneath his feet. After a moment, he looked up at Arthur again. “The thing is, my spell wore off because I underpowered it and Ginny eventually remembered that she loves me and that I love her. Our time apart proved to us that we really are meant to be together. We make each other happy. Ginny’s love helped me get well.”

Arthur studied him and after a few moments he said, “I take it your injuries were of a magical nature and that you really were not in the British Army.”

“No, sir, I wasn’t. My travels have only been as far as Wales and Scotland, but the war I fought in was very real,” Harry said sincerely. 

“I see. So, why did you decide to tell us now?”

“I can’t lie to her, or you, about my past any more, sir. It’s not right that she should be kept ignorant of certain things until after we are married. I refuse to lie to her about things as important as who I am,” Harry said earnestly.

Arthur was quiet for a time. Then he said, “Well said. I appreciate your honesty with me, but before I give you my blessing, I’d like to speak with Ginny.”

Harry sagged in relief. “Thank you. I’ll go get her.”

As Harry turned to leave, Arthur asked, “Could you, er, I’d like to see some magic.” 

Harry turned back and took out his wand. Looking around, he zeroed in on the knitted afghan laying on the end of the bed. Arthur gasped as Harry first changed the colour from blue to pink and back again, then turned it into bicycle tire.

As he returned the tire to its original shape, Arthur clapped his hands, exclaiming, “That’s marvellous!”

Harry put his wand away and went to find Ginny.

*****

Ginny squeezed Harry’s arm as she passed him in the hallway. All he said to her was, “He wants to speak with you.”

She smiled at Harry. “Mum’s down stairs. She wants to talk to you, too.”

Harry paused at the top of the steps. “Did you tell her about me?”

Ginny grinned. “Only the good stuff. See you in a bit.”

As Harry started down the steps, Ginny headed for the office door and stepped inside, taking a seat on the bed facing her father.

“Hello, Dad,” she said tentatively.

Her father regarded her seriously for several long moments and then asked, “Ginny, why do you want to marry Harry? He hurt you, made you think things that weren’t true. Why would you want to be with someone like that who lies to your face?”

“Oh, Dad, I love Harry. It’s as simple as that,” she said, her heart on her sleeve. “He loves me so much that when I didn’t believe he was magical he enchanted me to give me time to accept who he is. He’s kind, generous to a fault, humble and heroic all at the same time. Did you know he made himself sick just so I could go on with my life after we broke up? Another man wouldn’t always be that selfless.”

“I suppose not. So how did you come to understand that you’d been bewitched?”

“I think I was meant learn about the magical world gradually, Dad,” she stated and she told him about her dreams and the things she experienced that helped her realize that in his own, peculiar way, Harry was telling her the truth and that he was just following the rules set by the Ministry of Magic. “And then, I received a letter from him, brought by an owl! A magical owl that belongs to Harry that knew he wanted to send the letter but didn’t want to startle me by sending it by owl post! Whitehorn knew to bring it to me because Harry loves me and his magic told the owl who to take it to!”

“I see,” her father said vaguely and Ginny thought he was having trouble reconciling that magic was real, just like she had. “You spoke of Harry’s generosity. What has he done?” he asked instead.

“I don’t really know the extent of his donations, Bill and the others will know of course, but Harry made donations to everyone’s favourite charities.” She sighed, wondering where her father was going with his line of questioning.

“That’s all well and good, but what about Ron? He doesn’t have a favourite charity.”

“No, he doesn’t, but he does have his student loans,” she said, “and I realized on the way here that Harry is taking care of that for him, even if he didn’t want to because Ron hurt me so much with what he said when Fred died.”

Arthur’s eyes went wide. “Does Ron know?”

“Possibly. His payslips will certainly show how much has been paid off and how much is still owed.”

“And does Ron know who his benefactor is?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t want him try to pay Harry back, mostly because it’s because of him that Harry met me. Please don’t try to make Ron pay Harry back.”

“Ron is an adult. We should let him decide what he wishes to do.”

“Thank you, Dad.”

“Now, Ginny, are you absolutely certain that you want to marry Harry?”

“Yes! A thousand times yes! When we broke up, I had a hole in my heart that just wouldn’t close. I wasn’t complete. Harry completes me!”

Arthur smiled. “From what I’ve seen, you complete him, too, Ginny. I wouldn’t tell you I was happy with your choice if you two didn’t fit each other perfectly. If you can get along with living in both the magical and non-magical worlds, I believe you two can have a long, lasting marriage. You have my consent to marry Harry.”

With a happy shriek, Ginny threw her arms around her father, kissed him soundly on the cheek, and then threw open the door to find Harry pacing in the hallway. At the look on her face, he snatched her up in his arms and they didn’t let go for a very long time.

Ginny never did get her broom ride.


	20. Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny gets her broom ride, Harry puts his foot down, there's a wedding and a honeymoon.

**A/N:** It is with a very full heart that I post this last chapter. I am so grateful to all of my readers who voted for my story in the recent Silver Trinket voting. I have enjoyed each and every one of your reviews and thank everyone who wrote to me for asking questions, giving their opinions, and encouraging me to end this story on a happy note. I am pleased to tell you that it does.

I know I have thanked by betas every chapter, and I’m going to do it again here. Without them, this story wouldn’t be as polished as it is. To Melindaleo, thank you for all your questions. They made me think about what I had written and at times, go back and change something to reflect something I’d put in a previous chapter. To Mutt n Feathers, thank you for letting me talk through various ideas with you over a cup of tea. Your friendship is one of the precious things in my life and I writing HP stories wouldn’t be as much fun as it is if you weren’t there to share it with me. To Brennus, thank you for answering all of my weird questions and giving me financial advice so that poor Harry doesn’t dig himself into too big a hole when he tries to help others. To Cackling Stump, thank you for all the rewrites and ideas that untangled my sometimes convoluted paragraphs and arguments. You somehow know what I want the characters to say and do better than I do.

With all my thank yous written, here’s chapter twenty. I hope you like it enough to review it.

**Chapter Twenty**

“Are you ready?” Harry asked as he steadied his hovering Firebolt so that Ginny could climb on. They had come to the farm to talk wedding plans with her parents and Harry was now giving her the long-promised broom ride. “Pretend the handle is the crossbar of a bicycle. I’ll get on when you’re settled.”

Ginny nodded nervously and swung her leg over the broom handle. Surprised, she exclaimed, “It’s cushy!”

Harry laughed. “Cushioning Charm, m’lady. It makes riding a broom for hours long distance easier,” he told her. “I would hate to fly back to London on this thing without it.”

“Where do I put my feet?” she asked.

“Just let them dangle. Pretend you’re on one of those fancy roller coasters that suspend the riders from the track like Nemesis at Alton Towers Theme Park,” Harry told her as he mounted the broom behind her.

“How do you know about Alton Towers?” she asked as Harry grasped the broom handle, securing her to him in the process.

“I’ve been researching places to go during our honeymoon, my dearest,” Harry said as he kicked off. “I’ve always wanted to ride a roller coaster.”

“EEEEEEPPP!” Ginny squealed as the broom accelerated and climbed above the paddock holding the alpacas. “Give me some warning the next time you do that!”

“Do I have to?” Harry whinged, making her laugh. “It’s so much more fun making you squeal!” He levelled off and flew in a lazy figure eight over the house and outbuildings.

“This is amazing,” Ginny said as she surveyed her childhood home. “So, this is what it’s like to be a bird!” She spotted her mum calling the ducks into the duck house for the night, the birds’ faint quacking reaching her ears. A few minutes later, Mum met Dad on the path to the barn and Ginny watched as they walked hand in hand to the door of the house.

“Are you happy with the plans for the wedding?” Harry asked. “You and Molly were upstairs for a long time.”

“We got a lot done today,” Ginny told him. “I like the idea of getting married between our birthdays and so does Mum after I convinced her not to invite every cousin and his brother. She did that for Bill’s wedding and Jeannine had a fit. Are you sure it’s all right for the ushers to seat my family’s guests on both sides of the chapel?”

“It’s fine,” Harry said. “My list of guests isn’t that long, so mixing everyone up will avoid a lopsided-looking church. Besides, once the ceremony is over, your relatives will be my relatives, and I hope they’ll all be nicer than the Dursleys.”

“They’d better be,” Ginny grumbled.

They flew for a few minutes in silence, just enjoying the view and each other’s company. The wind blew gently, tugging at Ginny’s plait and dislodging some of the shorter wisps around her face. She sighed contentedly when Harry wrapped his arms around her middle and began steering with his knees.

“Shall we go faster, maybe do some loop-the-loops?” he asked.

Ginny shook her head. “Not tonight. Maybe next time,” she told him. “I may be a dare devil, but I’m having too much fun just being up here with you.” She twisted so her shoulders were parallel with the broom handle, then quickly kissed Harry on the cheek. He laughed quietly as she faced forward again, then began blowing in her ear.

“Stop that! It tickles,” she giggled.

“Oh, but it makes me smile just to hear you laugh, Ginny,” he said, hugging her around the middle again.

Ginny’s heart swelled happily. She truly wanted to make Harry smile for the rest of his life. He was gradually telling her more about the war and his role in it and she was beginning to realize that he had never been completely happy until last summer. Now, with their wedding only a few short months away, she had the rest of their lives to give him the happiness he so richly deserved.

They flew over the farm watching as the sun set and Harry pointed out the various constellations as twilight deepened into darkness. By the time the moon began peeking over the horizon, Ginny was a bit chilly and ready to be earthbound again. Harry agreed and gently spiralled into the garden next to the back door.

“Thank you, Harry,” Ginny said a bit breathlessly as they dismounted. “I’d like to go up again sometime.”

“All you need to do is ask,” he told her. “I’m glad it’s something you want to share with me.”

Ginny hugged him, laying her head on his shoulder as his arms encircled her waist. “I definitely will,” she sighed contentedly and stood on tiptoe to kiss him gently. “I love you, Harry.”

“I love you, too.”

*****

Molly stood waiting for the ducks to leave the pond and waddle into their duck house. She felt a sense of accomplishment that she hadn’t felt when her other children had planned their weddings. She decided that it was the fact that it wasn’t someone else’s plans she was having to negotiate, but her and her daughter’s. They’d agreed on caterers, photographers, attendants, and the church and the reception venue (a marquee in the front paddock) and had even started on the guest list. It made her sad to think that poor Harry only had a list of about twenty people he wanted to invite, no matter what he said about how meaningful each guest on his list was to him. It still surprised her that Ginny didn’t want a huge wedding like her sisters-in-law did. She thought that maybe Ginny was limiting the guest list to help Harry not feel lost in a sea of unknown people.

A squeal coming from overhead made her look up. There, silhouetted against the darkening sky, were her daughter and Harry, sailing slowly on the wind on his magic broomstick. After the initial shock of learning that Harry was a wizard and the breakup of his engagement to her daughter was over his having to keep his true self a secret, Molly had embraced the idea as just another talent in a long string of talents Harry seemed to possess. She also couldn’t fault him for trying to protect Ginny from a law that wanted to separate them from each other.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized just how easily it came to her to love Harry. She’d felt very motherly towards him the first time Ginny brought him home, not because he was ill, but because he seemed to need her approval that it was all right with her that he loved her daughter. Molly had never had that feeling with her boys’ fiancées. The women they brought home were good matches for her sons, and she’d come to love each one over the years, but none of them had been as heart-wrenchingly needy as Harry. When Arthur had told her after the first visit that Harry had asked him for permission to not only go out with their daughter but actually ask her to marry him, she had beamed happily, knowing that Ginny would have a good life with Harry.

What had surprised and dismayed her was their breakup. Molly’s mothering instincts had told her immediately there was an underlying cause other than Harry not wanting children and when he’d come home with Ginny to tell them that magic was the reason, many things about him made sense. To her, it was exciting to get to know the young man who loved her daughter with everything he had; that was the important thing, not that he was a wizard.

Sighing happily, Molly went in search of her husband. Arthur met her at the barn and when she told him Harry had taken their daughter up on his broomstick, he shaded his eyes and followed their flight path.

“Oh, Molly! Isn’t magic a wonderful thing? Just a few words, the wave of a wand or an enchanted broomstick and you’re up there amongst the clouds with not a care in the world! I watch Harry lift heavy things or make something appear out of nowhere and I wonder what it would be like to be able to do magic!” he exclaimed.

Molly chuckled. “You’re pretty magical yourself, you know. Not every man can raise a successful herd of cattle and turn a profit. You know this land like the back of your hand and that’s pretty magical to me,” she said hugging his arm.

Arthur kissed her cheek and together, they slowly walked back to the house, content with each other and content with the new addition to the Weasley household.

*****

The guest list blossomed to ten pages long, seemingly overnight, from a manageable fifty guests to over five hundred, most of them magical. Funnily enough, _The Daily Prophet_ had nothing to do with it. The origin of the increase seemed to be an innocent remark Harry himself had made to Neville during a “private” conversation at the Leaky Cauldron over a pint of ale. The news that Harry Potter had chosen a Muggle bride had travelled through the Wizarding world like Fiendfyre and suddenly his wedding had become an “event” managed by an obscure department at the Ministry of Magic. In less than twenty-four hours of his remark, the office had arranged for half of the guests to receive their invitations through the British postal service while the other half would be sent theirs using an army of post owls, many of which would be borrowed from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry had no idea why so many people wanted an invitation to his wedding, but as Hermione explained, he was a celebrity in the eyes of the Wizarding world and everyone and his mother wanted to be seen entering the church.

Ginny was more than a little overwhelmed by the prospect of so many people attending her wedding. When Harry likened his sudden popularity to being the newest exhibit at the London Zoo, Ginny thought she understood. He also knew that she was disappointed that her idea of a small, intimate wedding, with just a few special friends and her family as witnesses, was being turned into a circus by the Ministry of Magic. It seemed that all the work she and her mother had done was for nought and someone else was suddenly in control. Harry wasn’t so crazy about the whole thing either, come to think of it.

That was when he finally put his foot down. He requested a meeting with Minister Shacklebolt to see if he could suggest something that would keep the day meaningful for him and his bride.

“Harry, it’s such a pleasure to see you fully healthy again!” Kingsley exclaimed in greeting. “Come in, come in.”

“Thank you, Kingsley,” Harry said as he sat in the proffered chair across the Minister’s desk. They made small talk for a few minutes before Harry stated his reason for calling the meeting. “I’m here because I’m being forced to invite so many Ministry officials, people I never dealt with during the war, but who think they’re entitled to see me make a fool of myself by marrying a Muggle. Ginny is quite unhappy with the fact that we’ve had to move the ceremony from the church where she grew up to one that seats five hundred two towns over. What we really would like is to invite only a few friends and family to share our special day as we originally planned.”

Kingsley asked, “Who are you working with here at the Ministry?”

“Eloise Midgen,” Harry answered. “She heads the Department of Magical Events and Invitations.”

Kingsley wrote a note on a small square of parchment and put it in his OUT box where it folded itself into a small paper airplane that zoomed out of the office. A few minutes later, Eloise was shown into the office.

“Harry! It’s good to see you again!” she simpered, reminding Harry of Rita Skeeter. He ground his teeth to keep from saying something he would regret. “How are you and your lovely bride? I must say she makes a striking contrast to your rugged dark looks.”

“Ginny is not happy and neither am I,” Harry told her. “Our wedding has so many people on the guest list that we’ve had to move the date and venue to accommodate them. The new church’s vicar doesn’t know Ginny and refuses to let her own vicar perform the ceremony. What can you do to make my fiancée happy?”

“Oh, dear, that is a problem,” she murmured, opening a large folder and extracting a duplicate of the guest list. “When you announced your impending nuptials, it was generally thought that you would be amenable to a State ceremony, so we didn’t even ask.”

“You should have,” Harry said. He looked at Kingsley for help.

“May I make a suggestion?” the Minister asked.

Eloise stopped reading the parchment she held, and looked up. “What is it?”

“You’re in charge of Magical Events, are you not?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Then let’s do this. We can allow Mr Potter and Miss Weasley to have the small wedding they wish, on the day and at the place they wish with appropriate security, and then, on another day soon after the wedding, the Ministry will hold a reception in the Ministry Atrium for them so that the magical public may attend and celebrate with the happy couple.” Kingsley turned to Harry and continued, “Will this be acceptable, Harry?”

Harry smiled tightly. He really didn’t want to expose Ginny and her family to the rabid Wizarding public quite so soon, but then again, there never really was a good time to do so. However, the reception was a good solution to a very aggravating situation. “That would be acceptable,” he said, “but only if I get to approve the guest list and the paparazzi are kept out of the receptions.”

Eloise, who had been smiling, scowled at the limitations Harry was proposing. “I can agree to that, although the security aspect of two events will be difficult, especially since you refuse to let in the press,” she said stiffly. “We can go over that and other details closer to each event. In the meantime, please send me the modified guest list, so I can compare it with the one I currently have.”

“Fair enough,” Harry agreed. “I’ll bring you a copy tomorrow. I will also include a dress code to be included in the magical invitations. Magical guests to the wedding are to wear appropriate Muggle attire. Those wearing dress robes will not be admitted to the church. Ginny’s family and friends will not understand grown men wearing what they will view as choir robes.”

Eloise glared at him and then stood up. “I’ll get right on the arrangements for the reception, Minister,” she simpered and without even looking at Harry, scurried out the door.

“Thank you,” Harry said to Kingsley. “Ginny and I appreciate your suggestion.”

“I just hope this doesn’t make a bad impression on your fiancée and her family,” he said.

“I don’t think it will because everyone seems to be getting a little of what they want: Ginny and I want a small wedding and the Ministry is getting a chance to celebrate with us later. It’s a much more workable plan,” Harry said. “It also gives her family more time to get used to how people treat me.”

Kingsley chuckled. “I’ll make sure the fawning is kept to a minimum.”

Harry stood up. He’d taken enough of the Minister’s time. “I need to go see Ginny. Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked.

“Probably not,” Kingsley said, also rising, “but Eloise knows to include me in the list of people who will be working on the reception. I think between the two of us, we can guarantee a dignified event. We will be in touch.”

The two shook hands and Harry left the office to find the nearest loo. Dealing with people like Eloise always made his hands sweaty.

*****

True to his word, Harry brought a copy of the original guest list to Eloise Midgen’s office the following day along with the promised dress code. He and Ginny had spent an hour after she finished work getting the wording just right after he showed her his own dress robes.

“You’re right, they do look like choir robes,” Ginny mused.

“Are you worried about witches and wizards dressing inappropriately for the wedding?” Harry asked. “It might set tongues wagging about my weird guests.”

“They might,” Ginny told him. “I have a couple of uncles who are as opinionated as your aunt and uncle when it comes to people who seem to be cross-dressers. They’re perfectly nice people in most respects, but it’s really not a good idea to give them the opportunity to air their opinions in public.”

“You do know that I will have to wear robes for the Ministry reception,” Harry told her.

Ginny put her arms around his waist and looked up at him. “When in Rome…” she chuckled. “Will I get to wear a fancy dress?”

“Of course, you will. You’re the guest of honour,” Harry told her. 

“Then I’d like to get a set of dress robes. I’m sure we will be expected to attend holiday parties and other events and it might be a good idea for me to have something that helps me blend in with your crowd,” she mused.

Harry smiled. “Your wish is my command. We can go shopping whenever you want.”

Ginny returned his smile. “Thank you, luv. I just want to fit in.”

“You will, Ginny. You will.”

Now, standing in front of Eloise’s desk, Harry glowered as he read the Ministry’s guest list for the reception.

“Absolutely not,” he muttered.

“What aren’t you approving?” she inquired sweetly. “Every one of the guests are members of the magical elite.”

“I will not have the Malfoys, the Parkinsons, the Yaxleys or any other family who fought with Voldemort at my wedding reception,” Harry stated forcefully as Eloise quailed at the name. He grabbed a quill from the ink stand on her desk and began crossing out names. By the time he was done, he’d reduced the list by a third. “Take this to the Minister. If he requests someone be invited that I’ve crossed off the list, please notify me with a good explanation of why the person is to be invited.”

“Yes, Mr Potter,” Eloise murmured, her eyes flashing. She was no longer simpering as she had done yesterday. “Will that be all?”

“For now. Good day,” Harry told her stiffly and marched out of the office, eager to get away from the whole debacle. He could hardly wait to see what sort of mess she made of the security arrangements.

Kingsley caught up with Harry as he was leaving the Ministry. “Do you have a moment?” he asked. When Harry murmured that he did, Kingsley led him to an out-of-the-way alcove. He stated his purpose immediately. “Harry, it has come to my attention that the International Confederation of Wizards has gotten wind of you telling Ginny’s family about magic.”

Harry sighed. “I was hoping that wouldn’t happen, but since it has, how much trouble am I in?” he asked.

“Not much,” Kingsley replied. “I’ve taken care of it. You’re a national hero and as such, you are entitled to a little leeway if you don’t take advantage of your fame very often. You haven’t, so they only request is that you make an appearance the next time the Confederation meets to answer a few questions. I’ll send you an owl when I know more.”

Harry considered this and thought it fair. “Thank you. I’ll await your owl,” he said, suddenly feeling a little lighter. He had no idea he’d secretly been concerned about what could happen if anyone ever got wind of what he’d done.

The two parted and Harry Apparated to a quiet alley near the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital because he wanted to have lunch with his fiancée.

*****

The next morning, _The Daily Prophet_ ran an article about Harry’s up-coming nuptials.

_**Potter to Wed Muggle** _

__

Boy hero, Harry Potter, shocked the Wizarding world yesterday when it was revealed by the Ministry of Magic that he will be soon marrying a Muggle, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. The couple plan to wed in a Muggle ceremony at a Muggle church attended by the bride. Only a few wizards and witches have been invited to celebrate with the happy couple, but my sources tell me the Ministry is planning a reception for the happy couple a week after the wedding. Which brings me to the very important question of why Mr Potter has chosen to marry a Muggle. Could it be that they met after Mr Potter recovered from the war, spent some time together and then recently discovered that they have to get married? Or is it that witches no longer interest Mr Potter? Certainly, there are plenty of eligible witches from which he could choose to settle down. One would think that even his long-time companion, Hermione Granger, would be a more suitable match for the Boy Who Conquered the Dark Lord than a Muggle! After all, they did spend the war together and she is a witch, after all. So, what do we know about this Muggle? My sources tell me that her name is Ginny. She’s twenty-five and comes from a large farming family. She moved to London two years ago to take a job at one of the Muggle hospitals as a nurse (someone who looks after sick Muggles). Rumour has it that she was sacked from her previous job for impropriety…

Harry stopped reading and crumpled up the newspaper. He threw it into the kitchen fire with all his strength, and gleefully watched Rita Skeeter’s poisonous words succumb to the consuming flames. Ginny didn’t need the stress Rita’s insinuations would undoubtedly put on her. He was used to it, but she wasn’t. This was why he had wanted to get married in the Muggle world in the first place; he and Ginny were considered just an ordinary couple wishing to spend the rest of their lives together quietly, without people bothering him. Instead, the powers that be had turned the whole affair into a circus. He was thankful that Molly had been able to cancel the reservation for the larger church and rebook the chapel Ginny had originally wanted on the day they wanted to wed.

Another thought came to him. How did Rita know about their wedding plans? Undoubtedly, there was a bug flying around the Ministry where it wasn’t wanted.

*****

It was Percy who was able to finally explain Harry’s status in the Wizarding world to her even better than Harry had done. She thought it funny that her straight-laced brother turned out to be the one who was most fascinated with the idea of a parallel universe existing alongside the one her family occupied.

“It’s like this, Ginny,” Percy told her one afternoon when they both were at the farm, “The Prime Minister says you’re marrying the equivalent of either Generals Eisenhower or Montgomery from the Second World War or a popular rock star. Personally, I think he’s more like the generals from what you’ve told me.”

Ginny giggled. “That does make sense, especially considering how long Harry spent fighting his war, and while he might not have been a general, his friend, Hermione, says he certainly earned the adulation when he killed the evil wizard. She says he really is treated like a rock star because of it,” she said. She cocked her head to one side, trying to form her next question so that her brother would answer her without breaking any spells—Harry had cautioned her to be careful how she phrased any sensitive questions she might want answers to that her brother might be magically bound not to answer. She decided the direct approach would be best: if Percy couldn’t answer she knew he would probably start talking about something else.

“How do you know this?” she asked.

Percy, who had been a bit tense, relaxed and said, “The Prime Minister gave me permission to explain it. There’s a portrait stuck to his office wall that no one has ever been able to remove. I happened to be in his office one afternoon when the portrait announced an undersecretary to the Minister for Magic would be arriving shortly and would he please be alone in his office. The Minister looked very nervous about what I had heard and tried to cover it up as a practical joke. When I said, ‘You know about magic too?’ he visibly relaxed. I explained that my sister was marrying a wizard and he said he was happy that there was someone else in the office that he could talk to about magic and not think he was going mad. He even let me stay for the meeting with the undersecretary of the Minister for Magic. When the meeting was over, I asked the undersecretary if he had heard of Harry Potter, the Prime Minister laughed. He said, ‘You know Harry Potter? Even I know who Harry Potter is.’ The undersecretary then explained that Harry was a war hero and probably the most popular celebrity in all of Magical Britain. He also said that the whole Ministry was talking about his upcoming wedding. That really opened my eyes to how famous your fiancé is.” Percy then grinned. “Your relationship with Harry is actually helping me at work and my relationship with the Prime Minister! Thank you!” 

Ginny chuckled at the idea of her love life being helpful to Perc’s career. “I’m glad I could help, she joked. “Do the two heads of government often get together?”

Percy shook his head. “No. From what the minister said, there’s a law that prevents us from knowing about the magical world, so there’s very little interaction between the two heads of state. He only gets notified if something unusual is happening in the Wizarding world.”

“That makes sense,” Ginny mused. “Harry said this Wizarding law is what he was following when he tried to change my memory. He is still a bit reluctant to tell me more than the minimum before we actually marry. It’s something I’ve come to accept because I know he will eventually answer any questions as they come up. Thanks for helping me understand, Percy.”

“I’ll see you at Sunday dinner?” Percy asked as he stood to leave.

“Harry and I wouldn’t miss it for anything. See you Sunday.”

*****

In early July, Andromeda Tonks invited Harry and Ginny to her house for lunch. Harry was so excited that Ginny was finally going to meet his godson, that he was nearly vibrating with anticipation. He wanted Teddy to like the woman he’d chosen to spend his life with and he hoped that the eight-year-old would accept her role in Harry’s life. He needn’t have worried.

On the appointed day, Harry drove the two of them up to Andromeda’s house. He and Ginny enjoyed the drive and the chance to be together without someone else needing to talk to them. Right on time, he pulled up in front of the house and before he had even helped Ginny from the car, a blue-haired missile shot across the front garden and barrelled into him.  
“Harry!” Teddy exclaimed, hugging his godfather tightly.

“It’s good to see you, too, Teddy,” Harry said. “Let’s go inside and I’ll introduce you and your grandmum to Ginny.”

Teddy took off for the house, yelling for his grandmother.

“I like him already,” Ginny giggled. “What’s with the blue hair?”

“Teddy’s a Metamorphmagus, which means he can shape is appearance at will. I’m surprised he didn’t put black spots in his hair like he did the last time I saw him,” Harry said.

Ginny sighed and briefly rested her head on Harry’s shoulder as they approached the house. “Will his hair be blue for the wedding?” she asked, sounding worried. “I wouldn’t want one of my unthinking relatives to laugh at him.”

“If we give him a good reason for wearing a more traditional hair colour, I think he’ll accommodate our wishes… with his grandmother’s help,” Harry chuckled.

Harry could tell Andromeda liked Ginny immediately. While Harry played a board game with Teddy, the two women discussed careers, favourite recipes, Ginny’s plans for the wedding, and the Ministry reception in the kitchen. It wasn’t long before lunch was ready and Harry and Ginny were able to ask Teddy to be an usher in the wedding while they ate.

Teddy’s eyes widened. “Wow! You really want me in your wedding, Harry?” he asked. “Grandmum said I was too old to be a ringbearer.”

“She’s right, Teddy,” Ginny said, “but there’s no age limit to being an usher. Would you like to stand up with Harry and his friend, Neville? We’ve decided on two attendants each along with my little nephew, Liam, who is the ringbearer and my niece, Torie, who will be the flower girl. Harry thought you’d like to represent his family in the wedding party.”

Teddy turned to his grandmother. “Can I, please?” he pleaded.

“May I,” Andromeda corrected with a smile. “You’ll have to be very grown up and on your best behaviour that day, Teddy,” she cautioned. “And your hair colour must be conventional.”

Teddy looked puzzled. “Conven—” He tried the word again, “Conventing? What’s that word mean, Grandmum?”

“Conventional. It means expected, luv,” Andromeda said. “The people at Harry and Ginny’s wedding will expect your hair to be black, brown or ginger rather than blue.”

“Oh. Like I wear it for school,” he said, brightening.

“Yes, like for Muggle school,” his grandmother agreed. “Now, I’ll ask you again… do you think you can be on your best behaviour _all day_? After all, it is an honour to be in the wedding party.”

“I’ll be my best,” Teddy promised. Harry tried not to laugh when he noticed all of Teddy’s fingers and thumbs were crossed under the table.

“Then you may be in the wedding,” Andromeda allowed.

Teddy jumped out of his chair and threw his arms around his grandmother’s shoulders. “Thank you, thank you!” 

Andromeda laughed and gently steered the conversation to other, less exciting things for the rest of the meal.

*****

The four had been lingering over the last slices of Andromeda’s delicious treacle tart when Ginny looked over at Teddy and whispered, “Do you like sport?”

“You mean Quidditch?” he asked quietly. He’d been doing his best not to fidget.

“Maybe,” she answered, drawing out the word. “I was actually thinking about Muggle sport.”

“Oh, you mean games like rugby?” Teddy asked.

“Sort of. How do you know about rugby?” Ginny asked. 

“Granddad collected lots of books about rugby. They’re in his office. Grandmum lets me go in there sometimes to get a book to read,” Teddy answered.

“That sounds like fun,” Ginny continued, “but I was thinking more on the lines of football.”  
“What’s football?”

“It’s a Muggle game played with a ball you move around a pitch without touching it with your hands,” she answered. “I used to play it with my brothers when I was your age.”

“No hands?” Teddy asked incredulously. “What’s the fun in that?”

“You’ll see,” Ginny said, winking at him. She looked over at Harry. “Would you get my ball, please?” she asked. “Then meet us in the back garden.”

Harry smiled and went to get Ginny’s football.

While he was gone, Ginny asked Andromeda, “May we retire to the back garden? Your grandson and I have some unfinished business to attend to.”

Chuckling, Andromeda led the way out to the garden and the large expanse of lawn behind the house. “I hope this space is big enough,” she commented.

Ginny smiled when she saw Teddy’s broom leaning against the wall of the house. “If this is where Teddy flies, we’ll have plenty of room.”

Harry appeared around the corner of the house and tossed the ball to Ginny who dropped it and immediately began kicking it around the lawn. “Come get it, Teddy!” she challenged. 

“I know this game,” Teddy cried, his eyes lighting up. Then he sobered. “I’ve played it at school, but I’m not any good at it, so I only play when they make me.”

“Then I’ll show you how to play properly,” Ginny told him encouragingly. “Come on, you can do it. Remember, we can’t let our hands or arms touch the ball. Use only your legs and feet.”

Teddy ran alongside her and waited until she had advanced the ball a few feet with a gentle kick, then jumped ahead and kicked the ball in another direction. Ginny laughed and praised him for stealing the ball. Teddy enthusiastically asked about the best way to kick and Ginny showed him the proper way to control the ball.

“Keep your kicks small so that the ball stays close to your body. That way your opponent can’t steal the ball from you,” Ginny explained. “Give it a go.”

Teddy grinned and gave dribbling a try. Soon, he was racing from one end of the lawn to the other. After he gained more confidence, Ginny ran beside him and tried to steal the ball.

“That’s great, Teddy,” Ginny praised him as they took a break to get a glass of water from his grandmother. “Would you like to learn one of the kicks?”

“Yeah! Can you teach me to pass the ball?” Teddy asked, handing back his glass.

Ginny beckoned him over and explained, “When you pass, you used the inside of the back of your foot, like this.” She demonstrated and then had Teddy try. The ball rolled much further away. He grinned as they went back out into the middle of the lawn to practice passing.

“I like this game so much better now that you’ve showed me how to play. Could you teach me another kick?” he asked a while later.

“Sure. This one’s called a long pass or long ball. You used it when you want to advance the ball a long way,” she said. “You do it like this.” Again, she demonstrated, cautioning Teddy to kick away from the house.

It wasn’t long before the two of them were dribbling and passing and kicking the ball all over the lawn. Ginny glanced over at Harry and Andromeda and was pleased when Harry grinned from ear to ear at her. Andromeda was smiling at them, too.

They’d been kicking the ball back and forth for about a half hour when Teddy tried to pass the ball a longer distance than usual, and put too much power into his kick. Ginny stopped running and watched with not a little trepidation as the ball sailed towards the first story windows, an “Oh, no!” escaping her.

Harry, who was standing on the edge of the lawn, seemed to have heard her and before she could warn Andromeda about a broken window, he had his wand pointed towards the house. “ _Protego!_ ” he called loudly and a moment later, the ball bounced against an invisible barrier and flew off towards the back of the garden.

“What did you do?” Ginny asked, greatly relieved.

“Shield Charm. A very useful protection charm,” Harry said with a smug smile. “I think I’ll keep it up until you and Teddy get tired of playing.”

Ginny looked over at Teddy, who grinned. “You’re really lucky, Teddy, that your godfather knows magic. I would have had to muck out the cow shed for a week if I’d broken a window.”

Teddy grinned. “Thanks for helping me stay out of trouble, Harry.”

Harry grinned back. “Any time, Teddy, any time.” 

Later, as they were driving home, Ginny asked, “Do you think Teddy likes me?”

Harry glanced over and patted her knee with his free hand. “I know he does, mostly because you paid attention to him and not just his grandmother. I think you’ve made a friend for life.”

“I’m glad,” she murmured happily. “He’s a great kid. I think he’ll fit in with my nieces and nephews fabulously.”

*****

Two owls entered the kitchen at the same time, invading Whitehorn’s domain. He clicked his beak at them as they settled on the backs of two chairs, a noise that told the other owls that he would alert his owner. A moment later, Whitehorn leapt off his perch and nimbly navigated the narrow stairways until he reached the first floor and the library. His owner and his mate were reclined on the sofa, a place the owl didn’t dare land for fear of accidentally sinking his talons into the cushions. It wasn’t pleasant being stuck to the furniture and having his owner free him one claw at a time. Instead, he landed on his owner’s outstretched arm and began running the female’s long hair through his beak, trying to put it back into place.

“Stop that, Whitehorn!” Ginny shrieked, giggling. “Don’t you know how much that tickles?”

Whitehorn dropped the lock of hair while giving her a look that said he’d be back to fix her feathers later and inched his way down his owner’s arm toward his hand. When he reached his destination, he bobbed his head in the direction of the door.

Harry sighed. “I think I have mail,” he told Ginny. To the owl, he said, “Lead the way,” and reluctantly stood up. He followed Whitehorn down to the kitchen.

The owls on the kitchen chairs stuck out their legs as soon as Harry entered the kitchen. He stopped at the sink to get a shallow bowl of water and a few owl treats, then approached the table. It took only a moment to relieve the birds of their burdens and give them their snacks, Whitehorn receiving a treat as a thank you for alerting him. Then, without another glance at the birds, Harry returned to the library. As he left the kitchen, Harry heard Whitehorn hooting loudly to send the other owls on their way. He smiled, knowing who ruled the roost around here.

“Correspondence?” Ginny asked as Harry walked back into the library.

“Yep,” Harry answered absently, his main attention on his letters. “Two offers of employment, in fact.”

“I didn’t know you wanted a job,” she said, sounding puzzled.

“I don’t, but I’m also getting bored just lazing around the house. Would you mind if I worked in the magical world?” he asked her.

“Tell me about the job offers and then I’ll answer your question,” she said.

Harry opened the letter with the Ministry of Magic coat of arms emblazoned on the envelope. He waved it at her as he said, “This one is from Gawain Robards, the Head of the Auror Department at the Ministry. He’s inviting me to act as a Dark magic consultant for his office. The work sounds interesting, but…” he broke off, hesitantly, not sure how to put his feelings into words. Then, he showed her the envelope with the Hogwarts crest. “This one is from the headmaster at Hogwarts. He’s in need of Defence Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic teachers. When I was in school, the Defence position was cursed so that the teacher never was the same one two years in a row. It seems I broke the curse when I killed Voldemort. For the last three years the position has been filled by an elderly warlock who now wants to retire. That’s a good thing. The headmaster has also convinced Professor Binns, the History of Magic ghost, to go to his next adventure.”

Ginny giggled. “Sorry. I just can’t imagine being taught history by a ghost. When did he die?”

Harry chuckled. “Sometime in the nineteen teens. His classes were always the best place to take a nap during the day. Hermione had lots of fun elbowing me awake on the days I fell asleep. Anyway, the headmaster is giving me my choice of position.”

Ginny now asked, “Would we need to live close to the school if you took a teaching job?”

“No, we wouldn’t.” Harry shook his head. “Both positions are day jobs,” he said with a smile. “I can Apparate to the gates on pleasant days and take the Floo Network directly to my office on blustery days.”

“Is that a good thing?” she asked.

“It is if you want to keep working at the hospital,” Harry answered.

“You know I do,” she said earnestly. She was quiet for a moment. “Do any of the jobs interest you?”

Harry sat beside her and put the letters on the ottoman, then leaned forward so that his chin rested in his hands. Ginny scooted over and rubbed her hand soothingly across his shoulders. “They all do,” he said after a fashion, “but I’m rather confused by my reaction to the offers.”

Ginny picked up the letter from Robards. He’d spelled out what he might require of Harry, which included travel to various parts of the country. It sounded like exciting and dangerous work. “You seem reluctant to take the Ministry job. Why?”

Harry sighed. “I’m tired of running after Dark wizards, Ginny. The hours would be long and irregular, even if all I did was sit at a desk at the Ministry. I know I have the experience to do the work, but I don’t think it’s what I want to do with the rest of my life.”

“That makes sense,” she said. “What about the Hogwarts positions? You sound more positive about those.”

Harry smiled at her. “I am. Mostly because it means a more stable home life with more time to spend with you. Sure, I’d have essays to correct and lessons to plan after work, but the world just might be a little better because I made a difference in the lives of my students if I took one of the jobs.”

Ginny grinned at him. “I think you have your answer, Harry. Which position are you going to take?”

“The History of Magic position,” he said, knowing the answer to be true. He stood up and ran his hand over the books on one of the shelves in the bookcase. “I’ve read all of these in the last two years, Ginny. Most of them are magical history, but I’ve made a study of comparing wizarding history to that of the Muggles and I think I could do a decent job of helping my students understand how the two worlds influence each other and how prejudices often cause more trouble than necessary. It might even deter someone from becoming the next Voldemort.”

“Would you have to teach your students about you and your war?” Ginny asked.

“Yes,” Harry replied. “It’s one of the reasons I want to be the history professor. It’ll be awkward, at least the first time, but I think hearing from the participants—not just me, but Neville and Hermione and Hannah—will make that part of wizarding history more real for the students.”

“I think that suits you.” Ginny stood up and came over to give him a hug. “You’ll start on first September, Professor Potter?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

“Yes, right after we get back from our honeymoon. I think I’m going to enjoy coming home to you each evening after class,” he said, hugging her back. They stayed in each other’s arms for several minutes, then he backed away, towards his desk. “I have some letters to write.”

“I’ll send Whitehorn upstairs in a few minutes,” Ginny said as he sat down.

“Thanks,” he said absently, already thinking about how to word his letters. 

Ginny left the room and as her soft footsteps descended the stairs, he heard her pause and excitedly tell the portraits, “Harry’s going to be a Hogwarts professor!”

*****

The day of the wedding dawned hot and clear, making Ginny happy that the little Ottery Saint Mary chapel had air conditioning. She’d spent the night at the farm in her girlhood bedroom surrounded by her parents and her brothers and their families. After dinner last night, she’d finally been able to tell her brothers about Harry’s investments in their favourite charities.

“You mean to tell me that all that money came from Harry?” Charlie asked, sounding gobsmacked. “He’s funded not only the repairs, improvements and scientific studies at my sanctuary, but at two others since the initial investment. I don’t know how to thank him?”

“Then, don’t,” Ginny told him. “It’s something he feels strongly about; preserving the beauty and heritage of Great Britain. He’s something of a philanthropist and values the past as well as the future.”

“I read in The National Trust’s newsletter that two estates on the waiting list have started preservation repairs,” Percy said, “because someone has given huge amounts of money to help preserve our landmarks. Is the philanthropist Harry, Ginny?”

Ginny smiled shyly. “Yes, he’s the one and we are going to continue donating the interest from Harry’s investments after our wedding,” she told her brothers. “I’m proud that I’m marrying a rich man who is willing to help others just because he can.”

“Did you know he had money when you met him?” George asked.

“No, I didn’t,” she admitted. “I only learned about his money when he added me to his bank account the day we became re-engaged. I admit that it took me a few days to wrap my head around just how much Harry’s worth.”

“Ginny,” Ron piped up, “How did Harry get started with his ‘projects’?”

She grinned. “I had to practically drag this out of him, but Harry decided to pay down a good portion of your student loans because he wanted me to know that he still cared about our family.”

Ron sat staring into his tea cup for quite a while before he said, “I appreciate what he did. Do you think he’d be willing to redirect any future donations to something other than my personal loans? It feels a bit selfish of me to accept his money for my personal gain when he’s supporting so many other organizations.”

Ginny reached across the table and grasped Ron’s hand. “All you have to do is ask him. I’m sure he’ll be interested in any organization you suggest.”

“I’ll do that, then,” Ron said.

The siblings stayed around the table a while longer, then Ginny went up to her room and tried to get some sleep.

She awoke early, excited about the day to come. Her eyes landed on her beautiful wedding dress, the one she hoped would make Harry’s eyes pop out of his head when her dad walked her down the aisle later that day. It was made of cream silk, had a long pencil skirt with a daring slit and beautiful lace that decorated the plunging neckline and long sleeves. The detachable train could be hooked up to her waist so it wouldn’t get stepped on when she and Harry moved about the reception marquee after the wedding.

Knowing she might not get to eat until the reception, Ginny clattered down to the kitchen and helped herself to a scone, some eggs and bacon, and a big glass of water. Time flew by quickly between greeting family members who were participating in the wedding and helping her mum with preparations for the reception, so that she was startled to find Hermione and her best friend, Amy, sitting in her room when she went up to dress.

“All right, missy,” Amy greeted Ginny as she entered the room, “let’s get you ready for this shindig.”

Ginny giggled at her friend, “Do your worst!”

What ensued was an hour of pampering that transformed Ginny’s pale, freckly complexion and long red hair into something she’d only dreamed of as a girl. By the time she zipped her dress and added the jewellery she was borrowing from her mother, Ginny felt as beautiful as Harry kept telling her she was.

“Right on time!” Hermione crowed as she zipped her own bridesmaid’s dress and then helped Amy into her maid of honour dress. “I wonder if Harry is as punctual as we are?”

“He better be,” Ginny commented. “The photographer is meeting us at the church in fifteen minutes.”

She stood up and gathered her skirts, only to hear a horrible ripping sound. Looking down, she discovered part of the train had become caught under Amy’s heel.

“Oh, no!” she exclaimed, bending down to inspect the damage.

“I’m so sorry!” Amy exclaimed. “I’ll go get your mum and see what she can do.” Before either Ginny or Hermione could say anything, she dashed out the door, yelling for Mrs Weasley.

The two left in Ginny’s room looked at each other, then down at the dress. 

“Close the door, Ginny,” Hermione instructed, reaching into her beaded bag and extracting her wand. “I can fix this and no one will know your dress was damaged.”

“Do I need to take it off?” Ginny asked.

“No, just stand still and let me concentrate,” Hermione said. 

Ginny did just that and a moment and two incantations later, she looked down at the train to see it looking like nothing had happened to it. “Amazing!” she whispered.

Ginny’s mum chose that moment to enter the room. “Amy said something about a ripped dress?” she asked.

“Not any more, Mum,” Ginny said happily. “Hermione fixed it with her wand. Come look.”

“What am I supposed to be seeing?” 

Hermione smiled. “That’s the idea. I repaired the rip with magic and all is well.”

“Thank goodness! Now let’s get you to the church, darling. Your father is a nervous wreck,” Mum said.

“Why? We’ve already had four other weddings in this family,” Ginny said.

“We may have had four weddings, but your father never had to walk a son down the aisle!”

The three women burst into giggles and hastened down the stairs.

The ceremony went just as they’d practiced, except for the fact that little Liam had caught a beetle in a jar and didn’t want to part with his prize. Ginny finally suggested to him that the beetle would have a better view of the wedding if his mother could hold the jar. Liam reluctantly agreed and Jeannine gently took the jar from her son.

Ginny and Harry had exchanged vows and were going through the ring ceremony when something extraordinary happened. There was a loud pop, the sound of breaking glass, and suddenly a dishevelled woman with messily rigid curls and broken, jewelled spectacles was sitting in Jeannine’s lap.

Harry hastily shoved the ring onto Ginny’s finger and turned to one of the suited men standing close to the wedding party. “Get Rita Skeeter before she transforms again!” he hissed, and the man quickly followed his instructions, escorting Rita out of the church by the arm. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny watched as a wand parted the fronds on one of the flower arrangements and someone whispered, “ _Obliviate!_ ” and she knew her guests had been made to forget the woman in Jeannine’s lap. It made Ginny sad that she would have this memory, but would never be allowed to laugh about it with her family’s friends.

“Who was that?” Ginny asked, as the soloist began the song for the candle-lighting ceremony.  
“A reporter who has been plaguing me all my life,” Harry admitted as they lit their Unity Candle. “I’ll tell you more about her tonight.”

A few minutes later, Harry was leading her back down the aisle as Mrs Harry Potter.

The reception at the farm was all Ginny could have wished for. She had time to speak with friends she hadn’t seen in years, was actually able to eat her dinner, and then start the dancing with the bride and groom’s dance. She had been pleasantly surprised to find out that Harry knew how to waltz and do the Fox Trot a few weeks ago when they decided to practice for their dance. He’d been the one to pick the music, and had found a song from the nineteen forties in her dad’s antique record collection that was perfect for their first dance together. When they finished, the DJ took over and the guests flooded onto the dance floor to join the bride and groom. 

Ginny and Harry had been circulating amongst the guests sitting at the tables for a while when they heard an “OH, NO!” from just outside the marquee, and the next thing they knew, the DJ and his equipment was splattered by the exploding wedding cake! Apparently, one of George’s fireworks had spontaneously lit before he could set it up properly, flying over the guests’ heads and landing in the cake. Everyone was grateful that the only casualty was the cake. 

“The pictures of the mess will be something to laugh at years from now,” George told them sheepishly. “I’m really sorry.”

“Did anyone tell you your family room sofa is lumpy?” Ginny asked with an evil grin.

George groaned and sloped away to finish the firework display and endure a tongue lashing from Charlotte.

However, the most interesting thing about the entire evening was the fact that Ron broke up with Patti in the middle of the dance floor and then five minutes later began talking to Hermione. Neville, who had come with Hermione looked rather relieved. He immediately excused himself from the people he was talking to and went to talk with another of Harry’s Hogwarts friends. A few minutes later he was escorting the pretty blond witch out of the marquee.

“Who was that with Neville?” Ginny asked Harry.

“Hannah Abbott,” he replied. “You met her at the Leaky Cauldron when she served us our lunches. She owns the pub. Anyway, she and Neville have fancied each other on and off for years, but never did anything about it. It’s about time they got together!”

“Why did they leave so early?” 

“I think Hannah is the one who opens the pub early for breakfast tomorrow and lets the first customers pass through on their way to the shops.” Harry replied. “Neville is probably seeing her home.”

“Do you think Ron fancies Hermione?” Ginny asked.

“It looks that way. They might have a lot in common with Hermione being a Muggleborn witch. Let’s wait and see what happens in the next few days,” Harry said, leading Ginny back onto the dance floor.

Soon, it was time for Harry and Ginny to depart for their hotel room in Exeter. The remaining guests chased them out of the marquee with showers of grass seed that would take root in the next few days. In another few weeks, this corner of the paddock would be filled with the grasses the cows loved to munch on.

Later, as she snuggled into her new husband’s side, Ginny sighed happily. She was looking forward to the next fifty years of her life with Harry.

*****

A week after the wedding in Ottery St Mary, the Weasley family gathered at Grimmauld Place before going to the Ministry of Magic reception with Harry and Ginny. They were all wearing what they’d worn to the wedding except for Harry and Ginny. The bride and groom were resplendent in a new sets of dress robes. Hermione, upon hearing Ginny’s request to wear robes in order to fit in with her husband’s world, had taken Ginny to Madam Malkin’s to get hers three days ago and the elderly dress maker had created Ginny’s robes while she waited, promising her that no one else at the reception would look as beautiful as Harry’s bride. She had been right; Ginny had been fairly floating around Grimmauld Place since she’d put them on.

Tori giggled when she first saw Harry and Ginny together. “Uncle Harry, why are you wearing a dress?” she asked.

Harry smiled down at her. “I’m wearing what wizards call dress robes, Tori,” he said as he sat beside her on the sofa. “In the Wizarding world, when a man dresses up, this is what he wears. They’re like your daddy’s tuxedo. You’ll see many men wearing dress robes tonight.”

Tori considered this, then said decidedly, “They’re a uniform just like our vicar wears on Sunday mornings, aren’t they?”

Harry tried not to laugh at the image of the Atrium full of vicars as he said, “Exactly.”

While Ginny’s entire family was not required to be present, there had been a family meeting that had led to the decision that there was safety in numbers, since they would be the only non-magical people in the hall. Magic was still so new to everyone that they all wanted to go to see what all the fuss over Harry was. Harry had then arranged with Kingsley for a small play area to be added to the reception room for the children.

Ginny had told Harry that having the children at the reception was a good excuse for her brothers to leave if things became uncomfortable. Harry agreed. He knew how catty and unthinking the Wizarding public could be. Still, he hoped the Ministry would abide by his wishes to shelter his new family.

He had left instructions with the head of security that the entire family was to be allowed into the reception. Eloise had tried several times to limit the number of family members attending the reception to the wedding party, but Harry was having none of that: everyone would be invited or the bride and groom would not show up for their own reception. The Statute of Secrecy had long ago been breached because he’d wanted to be honest with his new family. Eloise didn’t understand how important honesty was to Harry and had tried her best to stick to the Ministry’s guidelines… even while the Minister for Magic was telling her to do what Harry wanted.

Two Ministry cars pulled up to the curb in front of the house. Harry was pleased that none of Ginny’s brothers remarked on the spaciousness of their interiors when all fifteen people were settled comfortably inside. They did, however, find it strange using the telephone box visitor’s entrance.

Hermione and Neville met them at the visitor’s entrance to help Harry accompany Ginny’s family, along with Andromeda and Teddy, to the Atrium. They came separately, rather than together like they usually did. When Ginny asked Neville if anything was wrong, Neville shook his head and mumbled something about him and Hermione being better off as good friends rather than lovers. Hannah Abbott joined them a few moments later and volunteered to help some of the wedding party down to the Atrium. Once their group had reassembled, Ginny noticed that Hannah and Neville were holding hands and standing quite close to one another.

“Harry, look at Neville and Hannah,” Ginny whispered. She pointed discretely to the new couple.

He smiled and put his arm around Ginny’s waist, drawing her close. “I’m happy for them,” he whispered back. “I hope it lasts this time.”

“I do, too,” she said, then tilted her head in Hermione’s direction. She was standing very close to Ron and she seemed to be explaining something in great detail. “What do you think of that?”

Harry glanced over at the couple, thinking hard. “You know, those two might make it as a couple,” he mused. “Hermione was raised as a Muggle until she was eleven, so she’s comfortable with living with electricity and things like a telephone and the telly. I think Ron is smart enough to challenge her intellectually, too.”

Ginny grinned at this. “I agree. Besides, she’s a whole lot nicer than Patti ever was!” she giggled as Minister Shacklebolt arrived to greet the Potters and their wedding party.

“Harry, Ginny! It’s so good of you to come early. Would you please introduce your family?” Kingsley requested once everyone had reassembled in the Atrium. Ginny made the introductions with Kingsley recognizing Percy as his Muggle counterpart’s speech writer. Percy seemed pleased.

“Right, then. Thank you all for coming early. The Floo Network fireplaces will be opening in about five minutes to admit the guests. Miss Midgen has a few instructions,” Kingsley told them before striding off.

Eloise now took the Minister’s place, her nasal voice and condescending attitude grating on Harry’s ears. “I would like the wedding party to stand by the fountain in a reception line with the bride and groom closest to the fountain. They are to be followed by the attendants and then the children. The guests will be asked to form a queue to greet you. The rest of the family is free to mingle with the other guests on the other side of the fountain. We must leave this area open for those Apparating in and coming by Floo,” she said, beckoning to Harry, Ginny and their attendants to follow her. Jeannine came with them, carrying Liam and holding Tori’s hand. The children were goggle-eye at the immensity and grandeur of the Atrium.

As they walked along, Jeannine whispered to Harry, “Is she always that bossy?”

Harry nodded. “I’m afraid so. Look, if you don’t think the children should stand with us, feel free to let them find the play area,” he told her. “I had Eloise add one for them.”

“Let’s see what happens,” Jeannine said. “Liam has been surprising me lately. He may not last long, but he wants to do big boy things like his new Uncle Harry. Besides, he was quite taken with Teddy last weekend and if Teddy stays in the line, Liam just might, too.”

Harry couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face upon learning that Liam wanted to be like him and Teddy. “Sounds like a plan,” he managed to choke out.

Over the next hour, the hundreds of magical guests poured into the Atrium and eagerly queued up to gawk at their hero’s Muggle wife. Most of the witches and wizards were gracious with their congratulations, but there were some, the ones Harry hadn’t wanted to send invitations to, who made biting or catty remarks about his choice of spouse within his hearing. Their obvious distain for Ginny rankled in a way that he hadn’t felt since the war.

“I know you told me to expect feeling like an exhibit in a zoo,” Ginny said as the last guest wandered off in the direction of the food tables, “but this is ridiculous! Who was the bloke with the white hair, you know, the one with his nose in the air? He looked at me like I had two heads!”

“That’s Draco Malfoy,” Harry replied as he ran a finger between the collar of his robes and his neck: the starched material itched. “He’s from one of the old families who like to lord it over anyone who isn’t a pureblood. I didn’t want him to be invited, but his wife is one of the junior department heads, one of the youngest ever, so I had to accept him being issued an invitation.”

“I think I’ll stay out of his way,” Ginny said. “The reception will be so much more pleasant if I’m not tempted to say something that will possibly get me hexed.” She waited several seconds for Harry to stop sniggering and then asked, “Are we allowed to circulate now? I need something to drink.”

“I do, too. Let’s get a small plate each and go sit with Ron and Hermione. I’d like to get to know your brother a bit better,” Harry suggested.

“Oh, good idea, luv,” Ginny agreed and the two made their way across the hall, Harry looking for Hermione. He spotted her sitting with Ron and a few moments later, the four were chatting amicably.

“Attention, please, ladies and gentlemen,” Kingsley’s voice suddenly boomed through the Atrium and Eloise Midgen seemed to materialize at their table.

“Harry, Ginny,” she hissed. “You can’t sit down now. We have the formal introductions next. You’re wanted by the fountain.”

Harry suppressed a groan and rose to his feet, offering Ginny his hand. She took it and they followed Eloise back across the Atrium. She pointed to a small dais that hadn’t been there earlier and made a shooing gesture that Harry took to mean they were to mount the steps, all while hissing, “Join the Minister _now!_ ”

“It is my pleasure to introduce the guests of honour,” Kingsley was saying, “Mr and Mrs Harry Potter.” The assembled guests clapped as Harry and Ginny made their way onto the dais. “It is the Wizarding world’s pleasure to celebrate your marriage with you. 

“We also want to take this time to recognize Harry’s efforts in ending the recent war. As this is the first opportunity we’ve had to thank him for what he did to end the war, I am pleased to award Harry James Potter the Order of Merlin First Class medal for his outstanding bravery in ridding the world of Lord Voldemort.” Kingsley paused for the resulting applause. “Harry, you are the last of many who received Order of Merlin medals for their efforts during the war and Britain’s Wizarding public hopes you will wear this medal with pride.” 

A small boy now walked up the steps carrying a large, leather presentation box and stopped in front of the Minister who opened it and extracted a gleaming gold medal suspended on a green ribbon. As he hung it around Harry’s neck, he said, “I apologize for springing this on you, Harry. We held the original ceremony while you were in St Mungo’s. If you look out at the guests, you’ll see many of them are now wearing their Second-Class medals.”

Harry yanked his eyes from the medal dangling on his chest to the audience and smiled broadly when he saw that not only was Hermione wearing her medal, but so were Neville, Hannah, Seamus, Parvati, Padma, and a host of others.

“I’d like to say a few words,” he said.

Kingsley nodded and Harry cast _Sonorus_ on himself. “I’m overwhelmed,” he began after gathering his thoughts. “Thank you for honouring me with this Order of Merlin. I’m glad to see I’m in such good company. 

“Nine years ago, when I started on my journey to fulfil the prophecy about me and Voldemort, I felt I could trust only a handful of people. That changed drastically the longer the war wore on. I met and learned to trust many extraordinary people who were doing their best to protect their loved ones and their Muggle neighbours, who were willing to risk their lives in battle, and who provided me and Hermione Granger with shelter when we needed it. Many of you endured what I’ve heard have been called the Death Eater Years at Hogwarts and I’m just now hearing heroic stories about members from all four houses. Thank you all for your courage.

“Finally, I couldn’t accept this medal without thanking those who gave their lives so that we could once again live in peace: Gideon and Fabian Prewett, Sirius Black, Dean Thomas, Minerva McGonagall, Amelia Bones, Hestia Jones, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, and James and Lily Potter to name a few. I’ve seen the memorial at Hogwarts and I hope it brings you as much comfort as it does me to know that these witches and wizards will never be forgotten.

“In closing, I—”

“Unca Hawwy! Unca Hawwy! Look! I catched the beetle I gots at your wedding!” Liam clattered excitedly up the stairs, his little hands clasped tightly together, his mother at his heels. 

Harry cancelled his spell and bent down to take a look at the beetle, thinking fast. If this was the same beetle from last week, he needed a jar _now_. With a swish of his wand, he conjured one and held it under Liam’s hands. “Let’s see what you’ve got, sport,” he said. “Drop the beetle in the jar so we can look at it.”

Liam did as he was told and Harry quickly put the lid on the jar. Then, he cast several spells to seal and protect the jar from breakage. Liam was right; he had once again caught Rita Skeeter buzzing around where she wasn’t wanted.

“What are you doing?” Liam asked, looking at Harry’s wand.

Smiling at his new nephew, Harry said, “I’m making sure your beetle won’t escape. Isn’t she pretty?” Liam nodded as Rita buzzed angrily in her prison. “Would you like to stay up here with me and Aunt Ginny until the ceremony ends?”

Liam’s eyes suddenly went wide as he realized hundreds of eyes were looking at him. He lunged towards Harry, burying his little face in his uncle’s neck.

Kingsley, realizing that Harry wasn’t going to finish his speech, quickly concluded the ceremony and then Vanished the dais as soon as it was vacated. He then came over to where Harry was sitting with Liam on his lap.

“Is that who I think it is?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Harry replied. “You know I specified that all reporters were to be kept out of my wedding and receptions and Rita Skeeter—” Harry raised the jar. “—chose to disregard my instructions to the press. Liam, who is a budding entomologist, caught her both days and here she is.” He turned to Liam. “Sweetheart, Minister Shacklebolt wants to look at your beetle. Would you share it with him?”

“Why?”

“Your beetle is a special beetle the Minister wants to look at it closely because we think it’s been naughty,” Harry invented wildly. He saw that Liam was reluctant to part with his prize, so he changed tactics, “What happens when you get in trouble with your parents?”

“I sits in a corner or go to my room. Why she naughty?”

Harry smiled. “This is a magic beetle, Liam, that flew where she wasn’t supposed to fly. The Minister has a very special cage for naughty beetles to stay in. Would you let him take her to the cage?”

“Can I have more cake if I give my beetle to the min’ster?”

Harry looked up at Jeannine, who had been hovering a little way off the entire time. She nodded and Harry turned back to Liam, “Your mum says yes.”

“Yeah!” Liam cried as he hopped off of Harry’s lap and thrust the jar at Kingsley.

“Thank you, young man,” he said, taking the jar. “I’ll take very good care of this naughty beetle.”

Liam took one last look at his beetle and then made a beeline for the cake table.

Harry looked over at Kingsley. “What will happen to Rita?” he asked.

“She’s violated the probation we put her on last weekend, including not registering her Animagus form this past week as stipulated, so she’ll see a few weeks of gaol time for certain. You won’t see any unwanted articles in the _Prophet_ under her by-line for a while, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Kingsley replied.

“Thank you,” said Harry, extending his hand. The two shook and Harry left to go find Ginny.

He found her sitting at a table with both Hermione and Ron and Neville and Hannah. He Summoned a butterbeer from the tray carried by a passing house-elf and took a long pull.

“Rita again?” Neville asked.

“Yup,” Harry said with a sly smile. He looked over at Hermione and said, “I think Liam just finished what you started all those years ago.”

“You mean Kingsley knows she’s an Animagus?”

“He does and he’s promised that she’ll get jail time for not registering her form.”

Hermione smiled. “Closure at last.”

Harry and Ginny spent the last few hours of the reception wandering amongst the guests talking to them about all number things, avoiding Draco Malfoy, and getting used to all the attention. Finally, Jeannine and Bill came over leading a sopping wet Liam by the hand. He’d fallen into the fountain and they wanted to know how to exit the building.

Harry pulled out his wand. “May I dry him for you?” he asked. 

“You can do that?” Bill asked.

“That’s the beauty of magic,” Harry told him as he performed a drying charm, complete with warm wind that made Liam giggle as the moisture evaporated. “It makes life just a little bit more enjoyable.”

Ginny suggested, “Let’s gather the troops and all go back to Grimmauld Place together. Harry, dear, will you ask someone to pull the cars around to take us back?”

Happily, Harry replied, “Yes, dear.”

*****

The sun sank low on the horizon as Harry and Ginny stood watching the day fade into evening from the turret that was their bedroom. The windows were open to let in the evening breeze, which ruffled Ginny’s hair, along with the last golden rays of the sun that turned her hair into the molten fire that Harry loved to watch. He never tired of watching the woman who had turned his life around and gave him the future he thought he’d never have.

Harry had used his connections to secure a small castle nestled high on a hill in the Peak District for the last two weeks of August and the two of them had spent their honeymoon exploring the countryside on foot, by horseback and on Harry’s broom. They’d gone to an amusement park where Harry had ridden his first roller coasters and also toured an estate run by the National Trust that Percy had recommended. No one had bothered them: no reporters, no family members, it was just the two of them, enjoying what Ginny jokingly called “wedded bliss.”

It was now their last night together in the castle and with their time here quickly slipping away, Harry stepped behind his wife and wrapped his arms around her middle and rested his chin on her shoulder.

“What are you thinking?” he whispered in her ear.

“I’m going to miss this place,” she admitted after a moment. “It’s so beautiful here with the land spreading out in all directions. I feel like a queen surveying her realm and I don’t want to leave tomorrow.”

“Neither do I,” Harry replied. “These last two weeks have been so special just having you all to myself, but I know it has to end. We have a future to make together, jobs to go to. Are you looking forward to going back to the hospital?”

Ginny turned in his arms and snuggled into his side, laying her head on his shoulder. “I am. As much as I’ve enjoyed this month off, I’ve missed the patients, the challenges they present, and the satisfaction that comes from helping them heal. What about you?”

“I’m excited about bringing to life a subject that most students laughed at and thought was useless when I was in school. It’s going to be fun being ‘Professor Potter,’ I think,” he told her.

They were quiet for a time. The sun sank completely under the horizon, turning the sky shades of orange, red and purple, before darkness descended and a multitude of stars made themselves present in the heavens. As he had the last few nights, Harry pointed out the various constellations and they wondered at the brilliance of the Milk Way that swept across the sky.

Finally, Harry asked, “How are you?”

“Truthfully?” she queried. “I think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. What about you?”

“I couldn’t be better,” he answered. He kissed her temple and then asked, “Is there a nickname you’d like me to call you?”

Ginny gazed out over the countryside. “I have several you can use,” she said, a playful tone in her voice. “You can call me ‘Ginny’ for every day and ‘Gin’ for special moments. Please, never call me ‘Ginevra’ or ‘Ginevra Molly’ because that’s what Mum used to call me when I was in trouble.”

Harry laughed at this. “You? Get in trouble? I thought it was only your brothers who got in trouble,” he chuckled.

Ginny elbowed him gently in the ribs. “Shut it, you. Now, where was I? Oh, yes… And when you are absolutely, incandescently, happy, you may call me… ‘Mrs Potter.’” 

Harry turned to his wife, happiness bubbling up inside him. He framed her beautiful face with his hands as he whispered, “Mrs Potter… Mrs Potter… Mrs Potter.”

They kissed.

**The End**


End file.
